Babysitting the Boss Guy
by practice4morale
Summary: Colonel Roy Mustang has this way of getting himself into deep junk and then purposely getting himself into deeper junk. Riza Hawkeye has been stupid enough to fall for him and vows to pick up his pieces along the way. Roy's men respect him, but now he's gone too far; murder, treason, not to mention getting himself shot. No one but Riza is stupid enough to stick around to the end.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Night Break-in

It wasn't like Black Hayate to wake me up to go out in the middle of the night. I'd made sure of that when I'd taken him on. He knew to leave me alone until the sun was up. But the damn dog wouldn't stop licking my toes.

I was too tired to ask questions. With a garbled, "Dumb dog," I came to my feet and leashed the little demon. He didn't need it, but it appeased the neighbors. Stumbling out of my closet-sized bedroom, I dragged Black Hayate to the wall-rack and fumbled for my coat, the one that wasn't military. I was conscious enough to remember what the frozen wind had done to me last time I'd gone out in nothing but my silk nightgown.

I got hold of my trench coat. The thing was built for rain, not snow, but Black Hayate was tugging his leash and I couldn't be picky.

"Don't whine. I'm going as fast as I…"

My heart skipped.

I dropped the leash while my other hand plunged into my hanging trench-coat's pocket and aimed it, pocket and all, at the back of the kitchen.

"Damn, Hawkeye!" the colonel said in deep frustration, shifting his hand around in my one-person refrigerator. "Is there any place in this apartment you haven't stashed a gun?"

It was hard to see him very well with all the lights off, but I knew that voice. I'd know it in my sleep. He tossed a green Tupperware out of the fridge and let it land without giving it a second thought. I felt my legs turn slightly pigeon-toed as I caught the metallic rattle of my old revolver when the Tupperware hit the tile floor.

I stood at attention, "Sir!"

Erect, heels together, right hand at my brow.

…Half asleep.

…Hair down.

…In my nightgown.

"At ease, soldier," he said like it irritated him to have to say it.

I gulped. What the hell was going on?

Black Hayate had already trotted back to the bedroom, not even waiting for me to unhook the leash. Damn dog was probably asleep at the foot of the bed now. I had a feeling I wasn't going to get to go back to bed.

I shuffled to the kitchen doorway and felt for the light-switch.

"Don't," the colonel said. "I'm a mess. Good grief, lieutenant! Don't you have anything in this place that isn't canned?"

I couldn't help but feel like that wasn't his business.

"Request permission to check the bomb shelter, sir."

"Permission denied. I need you to…" He paused. "You have a bomb shelter?"

I lived on the second floor.

"I apologize, sir. That was a joke."

I felt a bit liberated, giving him attitude, like I'd engaged in some sort of guilty pleasure.

"You joke?" He sounded a little shocked.

"Only when I'm 'at ease', sir."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: A Surprise Just for Riza

"Huh," he said, his nails making a scratching sound as he ran his fingers along the stubble of his jaw. "You have some scars."

I jolted back, hugging my arms over my chest by instinct.

"It's nothing," he sighed. "You never show this much skin, is all,"

I stepped away from the window and into the kitchen doorway where I wouldn't catch as much moonlight. It didn't seem fair for me to be more visible than him.

He was now searching my kitchen drawers for what I assumed would be a can opener. God only knew why. The colonel could be a little manipulative at times, a little skewed, maybe a little illegal, but as long as I could see through it I wasn't bothered. Now, three and a half hours before I was supposed to be reporting at his office for the day, he was breaking into my apartment and going through my kitchenette. This one would be interesting to figure out.

"Aha!" he said, pulling the drawer wider. "That's what I was looking for."

He grabbed my corkscrew and bumped the drawer closed. I twitched a little.

"So, apparently you're not a beer person," he said. "Where do you keep the girly drinks?"

I choked on a gasp. "Sir!" I felt a glare coming on in my direction. I exhaled. "Let me put a bottle in the fridge to chill."

"Details," he sighed, his voice deflated and airy. "Please, spare me. I think I might've taken too long to get here."

I furrowed my brow, half wondering if he wasn't drunk already. "I'm sorry sir. It's a little early to be drinking."

I realized in mild discomfort that this was the first actual confrontation I'd had with the colonel alone in my apartment. Suddenly, the fact that I was trying to talk my superior officer away from a poorly judged alcohol binge seemed unstable. I'd griped at him before. He'd practically made it part of my job description. But this setting was new. It wasn't right. It was inappropriate and unauthorized and he was acting off.

I heard him chuckling mildly and noticed that he had begun to move my way. He walked in his usual smooth stride, but the motions seemed somewhat different this time, the end of each movement lagging just a bit too long from where it had begun.

"Sir?"

"Get going, Melissa," he said, swallowing. "In about twenty minutes it's going to be too late."

I crinkled my brow, my ears burning through a flush. "Melissa?"

"Sorry," he said softly. "Riza."

He'd said my first name. A part of me was stunned he'd even remembered what it was in his state. He'd definitely never addressed me by it before.

"Sir?" I said, tilting my head to the side in an attempt to see him better.

I jumped in my skin as he thumped against the doorframe and hung his head so close to me I was sure he'd stumbled too far by accident. It was odd to see him behaving so sloppily. He usually moved with purpose. Though, now that he was closer, I could confirm that he did not have alcohol on his breath. I was able to detect the smell of sweat and vomit. And blood. Steamy, rich; I knew the smell—old blood and new blood.

"Sir!"

He swerved forward but caught himself before he could fall on top of me. I bolted back, putting my hands up against his shoulders to help steady him. I felt cloth with grains of what I sensed was dirt ground into the fibers. There were some rips through which I could feel his feverish skin. Every patch of him was wet in varying degrees.

"If you say 'sir' one more time…"

"I apologize, sir," I said. "I have to turn on the light."

I released him to find the switch. He lurched a little, unable to catch himself this time. I helped hold him again. For a moment I was able to catch some moonlight on his cheek. He looked rattled, his dark eyes bulging in their worn sockets.

"Your mom," he stammered, a little disoriented. "Mrs. Hawkeye. She was a surgeon. That right?"

I was surprised he remembered anything about my mother. I barely remembered anything about her.

"A pediatrician," I said. "A nurse."

I held him with one hand and removed the other to find the switch. I felt sick, smelling the blood of someone I knew. He'd started to tremble. He probably felt sick too.

"Did she teach you?" he asked, his voice fading fast into something strained.

"Teach me what?" I frantically fought the switch, fumbling in the near darkness to flick it on. "Oh, my God!"

As light scattered about the kitchen, I traced every one of the colonel's steps by a trail of blood. Smudged on the walls, the cabinets, the fridge, the knobs. Handprints and shoes marks. Crimson pooling across the floor and dripping from countertops. Dripping from the colonel.

"Booze," he said between heavy breaths. "Now."

His knees buckled under him and even I was unable to steady him this time.

"You're in no condition to drink, colonel," I cried, easing him down.

"I'm in the perfect condition to drink." He let his back rest against the doorway, wincing. "I promise."

"We can't risk you passing out. You've lost too much blood."

"I told you to hurry, didn't I?" he fussed.

It was strange. He almost seemed childish.

"You told Melissa to hurry," I said.

He gave me a washed out smile. "You just had to turn the lights on."

He knew I was right. He wasn't in any condition to do much of anything. Given what he had said about my mother's medical training, I doubted he'd come just to steal a drink. I softened my gaze.

"You're in a lot of pain, aren't you?"

He averted his eyes, silent. It would've seemed weak to agree but to disagree would've been juvenile.

"Don't be afraid, sir," I said, meeting his raw gaze. "I'll take care of it."

He coughed in the back of his throat and swallowed. "I'm not afraid. I just feel like shit."

Yes. Just like a child.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Colonel Mustang on the Breakfast Table

"We're almost done, colonel."

He groaned a little louder as I went for his last bullet. I was trying to be gentle, but medicine wasn't my forte. I was depending on the rudimentary training I'd received for first-aid on the battlefield and what little anatomy I could remember from high-school biology class. Not to mention the fact that I was using a pair of sterilized eyebrow tweezers to extract the bullets. It worked better than the eyelash curler.

He wouldn't tell me what had happened. Moreover, he couldn't seem to get it out. He'd fallen into delirium shortly after I'd extracted the second bullet and since then hadn't said much besides, "Stop." He did say beforehand that it wouldn't be safe at an army hospital and that if I treated him I could be executed for treason. He more or less said that there would be no turning back.

I said I'd take my chances. I was loyal. He knew that. That was probably why he'd picked my house in the first place. It bothered me that I still didn't know how he'd gotten in. Knowing him, he'd probably snapped his fingers and melted the lock off the door.

Roy cried out as I drew the bullet from his side, scraping my instruments between the fleshy rib-bones encasing his stomach. I let the rough gray pellet plink into the saucepan with the other six, blood rippling off of it and mingling with the blood from the others.

I relaxed my chest. I'd nearly been holding my breath. I pressed a damp cup-towel on the wound and readied my needle and thread for the last time that morning. Or what I hoped would be the last time.

It had been light out for almost half an hour now. I'd taken five times longer to patch the colonel up than a professional would have and the job must've been ten times sloppier. But he was still alive. I'd mopped him down with enough witch-hazel and hydrogen-peroxide to keep his wounds from getting infected. He was white as a sheet and hardly conscious, but his breathing was constant, so I counted it a success.

After the stitches were sewn and the bandages had been wrapped, I rolled up my last clean bath towel and put it under the colonel's knee like a pillow. The sides of his kneecap had started to bruise dark purple and I figured the leg should be elevated.

As silly as it sounded, looking down at him made me feel like a bad host. He was completely bare besides his boxer-shorts and shivered from the blood loss. He hadn't stopped sweating since he'd come and the bag of ice I'd set at the back of his neck wasn't doing much in the ways of calming his fever down.

I wanted to shampoo his hair, put him in some clean pajamas, tuck him in bed, and feed him canned soup, but all I had to offer was my grandmother's antique breakfast-table. He was so tall his feet hung over it.

The injuries to his legs had been minimal and, with his sprain splinted, his trousers could've easily be replaced as soon as they'd come out of the wash had they not been so obviously military. The shirt and coat were a different story. What was left of them had proven to be so damaged that I had seen nothing left to salvage. In fact, he was in such a fragile state by the time I'd heaved him onto the table, I'd decided to cut them right off of him with a chicken scissor.

I'd tried to get him down the hall to my room. He'd done his best to get there too, but he'd lost a lot of blood already and it hurt him to walk. So he'd had the idea for me to push my granny's old four-person breakfast table into the hallway so I could work on him off of there. He said a table would be more like what they used in hospitals, anyway.

The colonel's eyes drifted emptily. His gaze was glassy and bloodshot, his lids like slits. I couldn't be sure he was even conscious. Blood soaked cup-towels laid in crimson heaps beneath my bare feet. It was a wonder he had any blood left to bleed.

Roy Mustang was known to take risks, to test limits that shouldn't have been placed. He was respected for it, even with other countries. But this was different. I'd never known him to go out on his own with no trace of backup, to get into this much trouble and be so secretive about it. Not even letting me out of the dark.

Then again, he'd never said to me before now that assisting him on a personal level could get me executed for treason. Not out loud. Never broken into my house, never had me alone in the middle of the night, never on informal terms. And he'd never called me Riza.

"Lieutenant…"

His voice was soft, but still it held a kind of strength, a sturdy default, a part of him that couldn't bleed out. I took the wet rag from his forehead and wrung it out onto the floor. "Right here, sir."

His rested his hazy gaze on my chest, cracking a shaky smile. "You have great boobs."

My face burned, my heart thumping against my ribs. Gagging a little, I dropped the rag on his face and backed off.

"Can't see," he said, his voice weak and slurred.

"Get some rest, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Berry punch on the stairs, shower in the sink, then cosplay the boss-guy as Dad

It was Saturday and no one would be up too early besides the old widow from the ground floor. That was good. The colonel's blood trailed from the main door to my welcome mat. He wouldn't have left too much, but I was sure it had to be noticeable in some places.

Time to cover his tracks.

Just like always.

I heard him moan as I poured half a bottle of pinot into my grandmother's crystal punch bowl. I dumped some cheap cranberry juice in with it and I wanted to moan myself. I'd been saving that wine for my birthday.

"Going out for a moment, sir," I said, taking in a large mouthful of what was left of the bottle.

I swished it around for a while, savoring it, and then spat it into the sink; instant wino breath without the wino intoxication. I emptied the last spritzes of the bottle onto the inside of my trench coat so when I put it on I'd smell like a marinated barmaid. I wore a stowaway cocktail dress from the back of my closet under it with my feet clumsily planted into lacey pink high-heals. I'd only gotten to wear the shoes once to a wedding a few years back and now I was scuffing them against the metal doorstop for authenticity. I topped it off by smearing my mouth with dark red lipstick so that some of it made it out of the lines and onto my teeth.

I hoisted the bowl onto my hip and made sure to stumble just enough for it to slosh me every couple of steps. Black Hayate came to the door with me. He was probably desperate to get out to the yard.

I looked over my shoulder at the colonel worriedly. The bullets were out and I'd slowed the bleeding, but I wasn't a doctor. I wouldn't know if I had missed something and my low-rent apartment was no hospital. He hadn't said anything in a while. He hadn't even been alert enough to meet my eyes. I wondered if he was going downhill. I questioned my ability to help him.

He used to say something. He used to say something to us when we'd wimp out back when we were new.

Don't doubt yourselves. It's not humility. It's just selfishness. When a soldier says he's incompetent he gives himself permission to be incompetent. Say any more about it and I'll have the lieutenant shoot you.

Now that was a pep-talk!

So now I was getting nostalgic.

Repositioning the punchbowl against my hip, I reached for the knob and pushed the front door open.

"Oh, Miss Hawkeye!" chirped my neighbor like a bird with mange, coming up the stairs from the ground floor. "Would you just look at this mess? Why, you've dripped punch all over the stairwell."

I looked to where she was gesturing and smiled grimly. The colonel had been sloppier than I'd expected. Even if he had been in the dark, the mess was still excessive. He really must have been out of it to leave such a trail. At least there weren't any visible handprints. I prayed he'd kept to the orangey cobblestones on the way over and hadn't left anything too noticeable in the bleach snow.

"Yes, I'm surprised he didn't just use the elevator…" I trailed off.

"What's that?"

I remembered myself and put on a gentle slur, tilting to the side a little. "Yeah, I'll clean it up, sure thing."

She gave a nod of slight disapproval and left me alone. She'd probably bought the act and assumed the worst, which, to whatever end, would give me a temporary alibi while I figured the rest out. If anyone asked, Riza Hawkeye couldn't possibly have been involved in a conspiracy with Roy Mustang. She had been partying all night, she was drunk silly, probably kissed boys, and should be put in time-out.

Using my punchbowl as a bucket and the hem of my only really nice dress as a rag, I managed to make the mess somewhat no better than before but with cheap punch instead of thick blood. It would dumb down the colonel's personal evidence at least.

My time off work, my golden evenings and half-dark mornings, had been my times of refuge, my only opportunities to be a woman; to admit that pink was my favorite color, to buy push-up bras and fuzzy sweaters with butterfly shaped buttons, to wear skirts over the handgun holstered at my thigh rather than army trousers. And—surprise, surprise—Roy Mustang had just managed to take that away too. Goodbye party dress, goodbye shoes, goodbye fancy birthday wine I was supposed to drink with my few lady friends while they gossiped and complained about their ex-husbands. Hello, Riza, apartment slut, self-destructive wino, and possible conspirator in God only knew what.

Damn it!

I'd do it anyway.

I got back to my place and rinsed my hair in the kitchen sink so I could keep an eye on the colonel. I'd showered before bed, but I was too smeared in the colonel's blood for it to count. He was still asleep and I figured that was alright for now. I hadn't heard any sirens, so I assumed our position hadn't been compromised yet. I knew I couldn't leave him for long, though. Not yet. He was too weak. Now that I'd treated him and cleared away his trail of blood from the stairs, my mission was to keep him alive until he gave me my next order.

If he could give me my next order.

I wrung my hair and finished with my face. The blood had made it everywhere.

But even my face?

I changed in my room with the door open to I could hear if he woke up. I strapped a knife to my ankle, holstered a handgun to my leg at mid-thigh, and tucked a revolver into the back of my black tailored trousers. Sadly, this process wasn't all that far off from my regular precautionary routine just to get to the grocery store.

After reaching into my closet and tucking some spare rounds into my high heeled boot, I chose a pleated mauve overcoat and prepped it for later; it was thick enough to hide the uneven areas where my pieces were jutting. Probably the most feminine article of clothing that would ever do the job instead of a military uniform.

I slipped a travel first-aid pouch into a side-pocket; mostly Band-Aids and antiseptic gel, but it gave me some peace of mind. Into the other pocket I dropped a liquor flask and some cigarettes. I saw no reason not to prepare myself for the moment I would inevitably resume some old habits. Just saved time.

I heard a sharp groan come from the hallway. I bounded out of the bedroom in a less than graceful way and came to a stop at the breakfast table. The colonel was opening his eyes and it seemed like he hadn't yet remembered not to move around too much.

"Stay still, sir."

"I feel terrible," he uttered breathlessly. "What the hell did you do to me?"

"You're going to be alright, colonel. Just take it easy."

"The time…We've got to go!"

I worked to ease him down but even in his weakened state he was able to put up a fair fight. His urgency gave him strength and I was caught off guard by it. He gripped my elbows hard and used them to keep his head and shoulders elevated from the table. He couldn't pull himself any further than that.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked breathlessly, wincing through every word.

I tried not to let on to how hard he was twisting my elbows. "This is my apartment."

His eyes darted and slowed like he was having trouble seeing all the way, like in patches.

"Please, colonel," I said gently. "Colonel, you have to lie down."

He strained, shaking violently, wasting his strength in a last effort to sit upright. He exhaled in a sudden burst, releasing my elbows and dropping his heavy head to clonk backward onto the wooden table. He panted like he only had one lung. I wouldn't have been surprised if one of them really had collapsed.

"You can't be here," he gasped. "You can't…"

He broke into some heaving coughs after which he clenched his fists and ground his teeth for a while, breathing through his nose, fighting the discomfort from simply coughing too hard. I massaged my arms discreetly, allowing the circulation to pulse back through them.

"How long?" he muttered, eyes closed, resting. "How long have I been here? What time is it? Is the sun up?"

"You give us our morning briefing at Central Command in about half an hour," I replied. "Sir."

His eyelids peeled back and he grabbed me again, this time by the wrist.

"I have to go," he said, tugging then going limp for a fraction of a second and then tugging again.

He couldn't get his shoulders up, or even his head. He'd worn himself out in the course of fifteen seconds.

"Yes, sir," I said. "But we can't move you just yet. You're hurt."

He undid his fingers from my wrist and let his arm drop down, letting it flop to his side with his hand drooping off the table.

His face twisted in a moment of sharpened pain. "I shot the Fuhrer."

I cleared my throat.

And that was about it.

"Grumman?" I asked squeakily.

"You don't believe me," he sighed.

I took a breath.

"Of course I believe you, sir," I replied with flat composure. "I'm just…I 'm not nearly as shocked as I should be."

"Just a warning shot, Hawkeye."

"I wouldn't have thought otherwise. Not Grumman." I said. I felt my expression contort somewhat into something wrinkly, tight, maybe anxious. "Sir, you're a terrible shot."

His eyes opened just a bit, like long black slits. "Not that bad."

"You're terrible. Tell me it was superficial."

"I had to make it convincing."

"Colonel, tell me it was just a warning shot!"

He seemed stirred by my sudden uneasiness. "I didn't want anyone to think he was involved, so I…Well, at least I didn't toast him. It was supposed to be a warning shot."

"Tell me you didn't miss," I said. "Tell me you didn't."

He didn't reply.

"Tell me you didn't assassinate the Fuhrer of Amnestris."

His lids failed him and suddenly he was looking up at me with closed eyes. "I didn't go back to check pulses."

I reeled back two steps. My stomach churned and I was glad I hadn't had time to eat anything yet. I probably would have vomited it up. Colonel Roy Mustang had just had an assassination attempt on our Fuhrer.

And he wasn't completely sure it had failed.

"You weren't supposed to…" He filled his lungs and pushed them empty, straining through each breath in his panic. "I don't even remember. They just started shooting and…I don't think I killed him."

I stared down at him from where I stood. His bandages were bled through, some dripping. His tantrum had probably cost him his stitches. His body was nearly stark white, fractured with blackened purple bruising and sickly orange blotches where his flesh was trying to swell. The fever had calmed enough to grant him consciousness, but he was still sweating, tremors and jerks throbbing through his limbs without warning and for no apparent reason.

I knew what had happened. I knew what I'd done; more or less I knew it. I'd just saved the life of the possible assassin of the Fuhrer of Amnestris. I'd pretty much assisted in an act of terrorism if one were to get specific. As of a few hours ago, I was the most treasonous woman in the country.

But even knowing what I'd just done, what he'd let me do, feeling its weight, I saw him lying there. I saw the colonel shot up like a human pasta-strainer and I felt that weight more. Fool that I was, I'd fight to the end just to remain the most treasonous woman in the country. And I'd do it without him even telling me why.

Oddly enough, that resolve was not completely out of the ordinary for me.

"Colonel," I said, coming back to his side. "We have to go."

He opened his eyes a little, like he was trying to wake up. "You sure?"

"But your clothes are trashed," I said. "And I wear a size two."

He smiled faintly, his mouth stretching and slackening. "You would've gotten involved. You always get yourself involved."

"I rarely have to try, sir," I replied. "You need clothes. People will notice you like that."

And I wore a size two.

I went to my room and pulled the box-shaped chest out from under my bed, the semi-heavy one with the leather trim and a broken lock. I brought it into the hall and pulled it open. The colonel and I coughed on the dust.

"The smell," Colonel Mustang said as I eased him up.

He groaned. I leaned him to one side and began pulling his arm through the coffee-brown sleeve of my father's old button-down leisure shirt. It was just dark enough to hide the blood if the colonel ripped through his stiches again.

"Like my old house," I said. "With the blue shutters."

"Like cigars," he said, breathing in gently through his nose. He chuckled. "And cheap cologne. You never washed it out?"

"It smells like him."

He yelped as I drew him up just enough to pull the shirt around his shoulders and to his other arm.

I smiled. "It smells like my daddy."

The colonel squinted. "It's going to smell like me."

I glanced down at the old chest, stacked to the brim with stuff that smelled like my father. "It's not the only shirt."

Getting the colonel dressed was one thing. Getting him off the table and down to the ground floor would be another matter entirely. I had some crutches left over from an old sprain but it would have surprised me to even see him lift them. Most of my apartment neighbors were on the elderly side so sometimes a cumbersome wheelchair or two would end up parked in the stairwell. I decided it was worth a quick scavenge.

"I have to go again," I said, pulling on the liquored-up trench coat over my blouse and slacks to revalidate my act with the punch bowl from earlier. I smiled. "You need some wheels."

"I have to pee," he said.

I hadn't thought of that.

I came back to his side and calculated just how exactly I would haul him to the bathroom. I could've always tried pushing him down the hall, table and all. Or maybe I'd just ease him to the floor and roll him down the hall. He was too dense to carry military style, or any other style for that matter. Maybe if he had me to hold on to, if he could put most of his weight on me and we walked there together—then what?

"You smell like a hangover," he said, coughing.

"I'm beginning to feel like a hangover," I muttered to myself. "Let me have your arm."

We took it slow and he grimaced at every movement. He was heavy too, almost like deadweight. I tried to keep him steady, but he couldn't help but lurch and swerve every couple of steps. I could tell it hurt. His eyes welled up and a full round tear bubbled down his sweaty face. He sucked on his bottom lip. His skin looked tight, like it would've tasted salty.

"Slow down," he said, sputtering and trembling. "Don't have to go that bad."

I eased my pace, not having realized before that it could have been slower.

I sighed. "I'm going to have to re-stitch you every time you have a potty break."

"Sorry."

It sounded almost genuine. He was apologizing for more than the stitches. I looked at my plaster walls and pretended that there was something better for me to fix my eyes on than him.

I cleared my throat. "Can you do it on your own?"

He lifted his head enough to nod. "I'll lean on the wall or something."

"Try to aim, sir," I said, stone-faced like always. "I mopped the tiles yesterday."

Like it mattered now. I'd never see my bathroom again after this.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: James Brown, Elisabeth Smith

"They don't know it was me. I mean, they don't know for sure. Grumman would've recognized my voice, but it was dark. It was a private meeting. I wasn't meant to be there. I don't think they even saw my face."

I sighed as I adjusted the armrests on his borrowed wheelchair. The original owner had been a lot shorter than the colonel. I eased the rests up under his elbows and locked them into place. He winced at the simple touch.

"They'll get the DNA back," I said. "You must have left puddles of blood."

"We'll be gone," he assured me.

I had to admit, we stood a fair chance of sneaking by no matter what the circumstances. After such a rough night, the colonel couldn't have looked more altered. He was gaunt, milky, like he could've been suffering from a terminal illness. Not to mention he hadn't shaved in two days. His hair was even messier than usual and with a hat on to shadow them, his dark eyes would be too bloodshot to give him away. And besides that, my father's clothes didn't suit him. They washed him out. He looked unimportant for once, faded. I was sure not even Breda or Fuery would've been able to recognize him at a glance in a crowd.

I was no problem. The colonel had always recruited me for the incognito missions; probably because I was female and therefore the least suspicious looking out of any of our team. I knew how to blend in. Take my hair down, put a little too much make-up on, show an excessive amount of skin in freezing temperatures, and no one would guess it. Well, what do you know; the lieutenant's a woman.

There was one problem.

"We need to get out of here," said the colonel, not bothering to waste energy lifting his head up to meet my eyes. "It's nearly quarter after seven."

"Shit!"

I emphasized the 'sh' sound like my grandmother on my father's side used to do when she'd burn her hand on the top of the oven.

The colonel looked up. "What?"

"Did you bring any fake ID's?"

He paused, sighed then shook his head.

I frowned. "All I've got is your old James Brown passport."

"From the Drachma heist?"

I looked to the side, mulling it over. "Too late to get anything new. No one would do it. No one legit."

"Those things are good up to ten years."

"Our surnames don't match up, sir," I said, flipping through my stack of aliases.

He knit his brow.

"It'll look odd," I said. "You and I traveling together. Not married."

His slits widened a little bit. "I see."

"We could be brother and sister," I mused. "But then I'd have to be married or widowed to explain the different last name. That's complicated and we'd have to check into separate rooms wherever we staid. I don't like it. It's too dangerous to split up. I need you in my sight."

He narrowed his eyes. "What's your oldest alias?"

I blinked.

"Maybe you haven't had time to change it," he said, meeting my eyes like it pained him to do it.

"Like newlyweds?"

He nodded.

I shuffled through my stack and came upon Elisabeth Smith, my upscale harem-mistress alter-ego. The colonel had been sweet-talking coded messages to Elisabeth Smith for over seven years now. It seemed right that she would be my alias from this point forward.

"Elisabeth?" he said as I flashed the passport at him. H cleared his throat. "Sounds about right."

"I need to change," I said, turning to my bedroom.

"Again?"

I flipped open the passport and stared at my old picture. "Elisabeth Smith has a different fashion sense than Riza Hawkeye."

He looked aside and muttered to himself. "Doesn't make sense. Elisabeth marrying a dying wreck like James Brown?"

"I guess she really loved him." I said, turning my face to the 'dying wreck'. "Or he was loaded."

The colonel looked himself over begrudgingly. "I'd have to say the latter."

I caked my face, layered on my disguise, and covered it with my pleated coat before I came back into the hall. The stage-worthy make-up would give the colonel plenty to joke about without me revealing the entire costume so early in the game. I didn't have too much in the ways of trophy-wife clothing, but breaking into my summer-ware was about the equivalent. I packed a bag full of it and stuffed what was left of my father's old clothes into another, setting aside room in the pockets for toothbrushes, razors, that kind of thing. I shoved some make-up and our passports into my purse on my way into the hall.

I'd only been gone for about eight minutes, but the colonel already had his head hanging back snoring. The end of each exhale sounded more like a sob than a wheeze. I lifted our half-sized duffels onto his lap, setting them as gently as I could. I desperately wanted to carry them myself to keep the weight off him, but I knew it would be too much and I'd stick out with a couple of packed duffels stacked over my shoulders.

He gasped, arching his back in a small writhing movement, the breath getting stuck in his chest halfway. I set my hands on the chair's handles, gripping them harder than necessary. His eyes peeled open. He stared up at me.

"We're going, sir," I said. Then, immediately after, "James."

His faced tugged into a smile. "You dolled yourself up."

I frowned, putting pressure on the wheelchair until it began to roll forward. He chuckled lightly, easing his head forward again to hang almost chin-to-chest.

"It was necessary," I said, cutting myself short before I could call him 'sir' again. "I have to look trashy. It's your own fault."

I felt myself blushing and I didn't like it. The make-up would probably cover it up, I supposed. I still felt like a child about to throw a fit.

The colonel didn't reply. He looked bleak. I realized I'd have to be more careful about pointing fingers from now on. Whatever had happened, the colonel was more than upset about it.

"You're dealing with more than a heavy face," I said, hinting at an apologetic tone. "You've kept me in the dark; protected me this far."

He shook his head slowly. "I had no idea until last night. If you'd been there, you would've gotten shot up with me. You're the first person I didn't protect this time." He paused, calming himself. "I don't even remember why I came over here. This isn't exactly fair walking distance from Central Command."

"It's good you came," I said. "Anyone else would've turned you in by now."

"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly. "You're right. That's why."

We took the back door but headed onto the main streets from the start. Hidden roads were safe and secluded which made walking on them suspicious. We blended well with the morning crowd, as I had imagined. I felt like a nanny pushing a pram along during her morning stroll.

The colonel looked sick but besides that the two of us seemed fairly average. Central Command was obviously still concealing the incident from last night from civilians; everything was flowing like normal and the paper's headline was about little more than a press-conference in Creta and an official who had just had a baby. The colonel tried not to make noise as the wheelchair bumped and lurched across the cobblestone, not wanting to attract any attention. He was well practiced in stoicism, getting back in the game before his body was ready.

Soon we would be at the station buying cheap tickets. I'd pull the colonel onboard a train that would take us somewhere far away with very few people who would ask us very few questions. And from there…we would sit tight. That was my plan. Perhaps the colonel had something else in mind, but for that moment I was going on what he had given me to go on.

We would need a one way ticket. I knew that much. Suddenly it occurred to me that I had no idea as to which "one way" we would be going.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Know no evil, see no evil

"Havoc?"

"No."

"He'd take a bullet for you, sir." I cleared my throat. "James."

"They all would."

"But…"

"Not a chance."

We'd been sitting at the back of our train-car for over an hour and my butt was getting sore. I'd parked the colonel's wheelchair in the aisle next to me and he'd been slipping in and out of sleep since before we'd even started moving. In fact, he'd been dozing when I'd purchased our tickets and he'd looked so pitiful that the warden checking our boarding passes on the way onto the train told me not to wake my husband up; he trusted from my IDs that our papers were in order. The colonel didn't even have to lift his face.

"James," I said. "It's not like we're going to be camped at his parents' house."

The colonel looked pained, his brow stretching in a way that reminded me of how he sneezed. "Elisabeth…"

"We don't have to tell him anything."

"Enough to get him involved."

I met his eyes, feeling an almost uncomfortable pang rippling through my gaze as I fought the desperation in my throat. "We need a connection," I said. "Havoc. Havoc will know where to put us. He'll give us a hideout, an address, and that's all. We can take it from there."

The colonel held my gaze. "We can take it from here."

The muscles in my face felt crippled and I could feel my expression become numb despite myself. The pitch in my voice made up for it. "I need you safe, sir. You're a hazard like this!"

A few heads turned in the seats in front of us with expressions of pity and respect for the woman married to the man that was terminally ill. My voice hadn't exactly been loud, but the tone had been distressed enough to cause some curiosity. I sighed, fingering the ends of my bangs. My skin was beginning to feel tight and gooey under all the make-up. I was getting tired. I knew I'd have to sleep, that I couldn't monitor him forever. I just wanted somewhere safe.

The colonel closed his eyes and for a minute I thought he'd conked out again. Then his mouth twitched and he began to speak in a low, gentle tone, like he was speaking in his sleep. "Listen, Elisabeth," he said. "It's not the same anymore. It's not like the Promise Day. I can't be military after this."

I fought my eyes from widening. The exhaustion was impairing my ability to control my emotions. "You won't be James forever."

"Listen," he said firmly, his jaw tightening like he wanted to bite down on something. He lowered his voice to a smoothed whisper that could've been carried off by the train's noise had I not known it so well. "I mean it. It's not the same. This time it's personal."

"You keep saying that, sir," I whispered back.

He cracked a quivering half-smile and I could tell he was getting annoyed with my constant interruption.

"I'll be quiet, James."

He opened his eyes a little to catch the sincerity of my expression then closed them again. "I was doing the damn paperwork. The stuff I put off until you threaten to shoot me." He swallowed. "I didn't realize it was so late. I was the last one to leave so I secured the area on my way out, even bothered to check the latrine. I honestly thought I was the only one there. I found some doors that hadn't been locked, so I cursed the dumbass who'd left them open and started locking them myself. But then I caught voices. The lights were off, but I could hear them pretty well and I realized I'd locked them in, so I hurried to unlock them and went in to tell them to go home. It was late. I figured they were probably just the janitorial staff finishing up."

He paused, breathing deeply. He'd spoken a lot; more than he had since he'd passed out on my breakfast table. Even keeping his voice down, the weight of his words taxed him and for a while it looked like he might stop. He opened his eyes and looked at me like they'd turned to tar pits. He almost seemed ashamed.

"It wasn't the janitorial staff," he said.

I bit my lip so I couldn't say anything, nodding my head.

"It was Grumman."

I nodded again, hardly surprised about that bit.

"And there were three others. Two of them were body guards. And a man. I think he might have been one of our ambassadors from Drachma. It was too dark to see very well, but I recognized the accent. But there was one more besides all of them. There was a girl. She was small. Barely above three feet tall. I might have imagined her. I never heard her speak. The ambassador had his hands on her shoulders and he was talking to Fuhrer Grumman like they were old friends."

The colonel paused, this time not to catch his breath. A tremble went down him, and then another. I wanted to pat his shoulder.

"He…" The colonel stopped again, crinkling his brow. "The ambassador said something about flame alchemy."

I felt my muscles stiffen and my joints go rigid. I couldn't help but say, "What about it?"

The colonel sighed hard and met my eyes almost apologetically. "He wanted to sell it to us. He wanted to sell fire alchemy to Amnestris."

I frowned, fighting the urge to stand up just to channel my energy.

The colonel continued. "Apparently someone on their side had a similar idea to Master Hawkeye's. They know what flame alchemy has done for our military and they figure they can make a better profit off of us trying to protect it than the profit of a smaller, less prosperous country trying to take advantage of it. The ambassador was talking like he was doing Grumman a favor, giving him first dibs. Grumman caught it. I could tell by the way he was talking. It's all bull. They'll sell it to us then they'll turn around and sell it to every other nation who can afford it. Then they'll use the profit to train up their own flame alchemists and they'll invade Amnestris and everywhere else, for that matter, which is exactly what they've wanted from the beginning!"

I held myself in a steady state of mind, if only barely, and wised up enough to try to calm the colonel down. I took off the hat and brushed the hair away from his closed eyes. He was feeling feverish again and the effort from speaking was causing him to wheeze. I replaced his hat reluctantly, watching it swallow and smother his steamy head. He didn't look too much like Roy Mustang as he was, but I had to be careful, even if the only onlookers were women in rapture at the beauty of morbid love.

"Please, James," I said, touching his scratchy cheek with the backs of my fingertips. My fingers were cool having forgotten gloves for our journey, and his face softened a bit at the touch. "Just rest now."

He coughed in the back of his throat, wincing, and took an even breath. "I meant to hit his arm," he said. "But he moved."

"Real targets tend to do that," I said, trying not to think about rolling my eyes.

The colonel didn't seem to notice my sarcasm. "Grumman nearly had them, too." The colonel became solemn, motionless, eyes on his knees. He was feeling guilt. "The man could talk his way out of anything. The ambassador was backing off and it was like he didn't even know he was doing it. They were going to be out of there. We'd worry about flame alchemy on our own time. But then," he said with a frown. "The girl. I swear that girl looked at me. I don't know how she knew I was there. I'm a soldier. I know how not to be noticed. But that was all it took. The guards started shooting and the ambassador started shouting at Grumman about how Grumman had sworn he'd come alone and Amnestris was full of spies and conspiracies and how our countries' alliance was broken. Then the ambassador started reaching for his gun and I was afraid he was about to pull it out on the Fuhrer, so I grabbed one of those standard revolvers they give new recruits off a guy's desk and I…well, I was going for Grumman's arm. I really don't remember what happened from there. I was shot up. I was at your place looking for booze. Then I woke up and you put me on a train."

"I thought this was about the Fuhrer," I said, more or less to myself. "And now he's the least of our problems."

The colonel heard me and caught me shaking before I caught myself. "Elisabeth, I didn't mean to get you involved. I don't even remember…"

"You didn't have to get me involved," I said softly.

I reached my hand across my shoulder and slipped it under my collars to touch the damaged skin where the colonel had burned away my father's alchemic notes from my back. The colonel seemed sickened with himself, watching me, but I didn't know how to cater to his needs at that moment.

Having my back burnt off had hurt, as gentle and shallow as the colonel had tried to be. It had hurt for a long time, too. Just to take a bath or to wear clothes over it had been agony for weeks. Not to mention the horror for the next month or so, looking in the mirror after stripping off my shirt and seeing the scarlet and stark white blotches where the fire had scarred me. If I had had anything, I had had pretty shoulders. Shoulders were hard to go wrong with. All girls should've had pretty shoulders. My father's tattoo had been unorthodox, but it had been better that the marred flesh I'd replaced it with.

And it had been for nothing?

Skinning my back with flames…for nothing?

I looked at the colonel. "I need to sleep."

His jaw slackened like he was ready to reply, but his eyes said otherwise.

"Wake me up if something…" I looked away. "Just…if something."


	7. Chapter 7

Brief Flashback:

Because it was not written earlier for a really good reason that the author is still coming up with, and writing it within the current text would prove to be both inconvenient and way too hard to bother with, the author would like to share that Black Hayate was released by Riza when she went out to hide the evidence of Roy's blood on the stairs. Black Hayate has since found his way to Fuery's apartment where Fuery has smuggled him in despite the landlord's rules. This is because that is the cutest thing ever. Riza is not a negligent owner, by the way. She trained that dog to smithereens so she knows he knows the drill if things get rough. The End.

Chapter Seven: The 'just something'

I felt something clawing, gripping the hair at the back of my head and yanking it forward so my head was forced to bow even more than it already was.

"Damn dog," I grumbled, squirming. "Bad enough going after my toes."

"Get down!" Roy said, his voice taking on a hoarse, hissing quality.

My eyes opened, not in that delicate fluttering-lashes way, but more like peeling off a sticker. I felt some of my dried up mascara clumps crumble like chunky black dust onto my cheeks. I glanced to the side as my vision focused through mid-twilight sleep. The colonel yanked down my head again before I could get a good look at him. What little I saw didn't look good.

"Sir?" I asked, struggling against the yawn coming up in my jaw.

I stared at my knees, my pleated mauve coat, and then there was the wooden bench-seat where I sat at the back of the train and the window next to me looking out to an open station with a dusky sky. The yawn escaped.

"How long was I out?"

The colonel jerked my head down harder and I felt a squeak come out of my throat, the closest thing I'd ever given him to a scream.

"I said stay down!"

I wished very hard for a moment that the colonel would grow his hair long enough for me to yank it out of his head. I thought better of it immediately afterward; the effort from pulling me down like this was probably causing him more pain than it was me. There was a good reason he was acting so desperate.

"James," I said, lowering my voice and bowing my head lower. "Sir, what are your orders?"

His hand was shaking on the back of my head, clenching and unclenching, pulling at my hair in strands. Was he weak or nervous? He'd gotten his head down too, though perhaps with more effort, and I could just make out his expression past the shower of blond tresses he'd flipped over my face. He looked terrified.

"Just stay the hell down."

"Sir," I agreed. He didn't need any more than that.

I felt unsettled. I'd had a rest, but I still felt tired, or maybe something in me just felt weaker than it should have. My eyes tickled at the back, almost like I might start crying but for no concrete reason, and my mouth felt like it might tremble if I wasn't careful. It was infuriating. I knew I had to stay in control. My will to keep calm was unwavering as ever, but my ability seemed to be waning. I didn't want it like that. I pretended it wasn't like that.

We were stopped, that much I knew. If we weren't getting off then that meant the danger was probably at the station and not on the train with us. Not yet. I wondered if he'd seen someone military—from Amnestris or Drachma—or someone we knew. Or both. I hadn't even gotten a look as to where we were. We could've been halfway to Dublith or halfway to Xing for all I knew. But it was getting dark. We must have made it a reasonable distance.

I frowned. What if it hadn't been a person? What if he'd seen a newspaper, a newly printed wanted-poster with his face on it?

Or mine?

If he'd wanted me, in costume, to duck my head down then it had to be something about me. Something about me.

He'd said they hadn't seen his face.

And the evidence led to my apartment.

And I was as good a shot as there ever was. If they were on the lookout for an assassin…it could be me. Easily. More easily than the colonel. Yes, Roy Mustang had made it more than clear of his intentions on becoming the Fuhrer, and I'd been more than clear on my intentions to remain his loyal subordinate until the very end. Who better to remove the one person who could stand between her superior and his kingship than the Hawk's Eye? I'd move him up the ladder and he'd keep his hands clean. Just exactly the sort of thing I'd do.

But not that.

I breathed heavily to the point of hyperventilation, not realizing it in time to stop it. My grasp on myself faltered for a moment. I could handle Roy getting himself into trouble. I'd cleaned up his messes a hundred times before. But me? I was no one. I wasn't supposed to be anyone. That was the point! Oh, God!

The colonel relaxed his hand on my hair.

"You alright?" he whispered.

"I'm wanted for murder, aren't I?" I said, my voice revealing traces of unwilling vulnerability.

The colonel turned to me, his brow creased like I'd just given him directions in a foreign language. "What?"

"That's why we're hiding," I said, pushing my voice to sound braver. "It's alright."

The colonel smiled, drained, sweat beading off the side of his forehead. I wondered if he was going through another fever or if he was just nervous. Probably both.

"No," he chuckled through a cough. "That's not why we're hiding. Though, that's probably something to look out for."

I grimaced, all relief overshadowed by resentment and mortification, an entanglement of pent-up who-knew-what. I breathed, settling, reaching up and easily unthreading his fingers from my hair. "Then what?"

He grabbed my head again. "Stay down!"

I sighed and it came out sounding like I was irritated. I was sick of being left in the dark and he was yanking my hair out at the roots, or it felt like it. I was ready for a coffee break.

We were on one of the further-back cars, the ones that tended to fill up last, so it was a little odd to hear the car door open, even more odd to hear the footsteps—clack, step, clack, step.

"Jeez," the passenger laughed. "No one's getting up?"

Roy shook in his skin at the voice, like a traumatized dog with its tail between its legs. The voice of the passenger couldn't be called odd. More just, "I should have figured that one out sooner."

I heard some of the other passengers shuffling in their seats.

"Wait, no, I wasn't serious," he laughed—clack, step, clack, step. "I'm one of those stubborn cripples who likes to prove I can do stuff on my own. Keep your seat. No, seriously. Sit down. Thanks anyway."

Clack, step, clack, step, clack.

I gave the colonel a side-glance. "Sir?"

"Shut. Up."

If there was any other person stupid enough to get involved in this mess besides me, it was the young man limping his way toward the back, toward the empty seat right in front of me. The colonel looked like he might be sick.

Clack, step, clack, step.

Clack.

Thump.

The seat in front of me creaked a little as its new resident dropped himself down hard onto it. I fidgeted. I could feel Ed's eyes on me.

"Hey," he said, leaning a pair of wooden crutches against his window. "You two okay? Hey, sir?"

We'd taken a train with the seats back-to-front rather than the two-by-two facing each other. But Edward had never really been one for acknowledging boundaries. We could have had a curtain between our seats and he would have found some way to get nosey anyway.

We had our heads bowed still, staring at the ground, our knees. Edward would figure us out if we kept it up. He was a smart kid and we were acting beyond suspicious. We could try to wait him out, but I didn't know that I could stay rigid too long and I knew that the colonel couldn't. We were disguised, for goodness' sake. This was ridiculous. We stood a better chance if we faced him.

Roy tightened his grip on my hair, not violently but more like a plea. I tugged away from it, raising my head.

"Excuse us," I said, hauling my voice up two octaves and rippling it with giggles and airy edges. The colonel stayed where he was like a stunned animal. "We were praying."

Edward's eyes widened. Golden as ever, but not as big and round on his matured face. It had been nearly four years since I'd seen him last. He'd grown up, in his jaw and a lot in his shoulders. I wondered if he might be taller than the colonel now. He stared at me, stunned, and wondered if I should have been praying after all. I caught a tint of pink on his face.

He cleared his throat. "Is that so?"

"For safe travels," I said.

I smiled, showing all my teeth in an arched line, hoping that maybe Elisabeth Smith's interesting choice in make-up and style was what had surprised him. He smiled back, the way I'd seen him smile when he was trying to figure someone out. Someone he knew absolutely nothing about. I breathed a little easier.

"Your husband?" he said, gesturing at the colonel.

I nodded. The colonel had sat back again, but he kept his face down, his collar up, and his hat tilted over his eyes. He wasn't quite as accustomed to incognito missions and in his state of half-consciousness, we'd made an unspoken executive decision to leave the talking to me. Edward had not recognized me yet. That was enough for now.

I almost wished he would have.

Edward grunted, pulling his left leg to where he could rest it entirely on the seat. I peered over and understood the sounds of the crutches from before. The leg ended at about mid-thigh, his pant leg tied off at the end of his stump in a thick knot. He ran his hand up and down the outside of it, kneading it like it was sore. I felt myself melt into sadness and didn't fight it. Sadness was the believable reaction for a woman like Elisabeth Smith.

And bluntness was her believable form of conversation. "What's a little boy doing traveling alone like that?"

'Little boy' was a rude exaggeration. Edward was going on twenty if I was remembering correctly. I half expected him to seethe up and shout, "Did you just call me little?!"

Edward looked up, his hand slowing on his thigh. "You mean this?"

He tapped the palm of his hand on it without lifting his wrist all the way. I nodded, mildly taken aback by his poise.

"It doesn't seem safe," I said. Elisabeth said.

He'd never been one to worry about a trivial thing like personal safety.

Edward smiled like he was mocking me in his mind. Mocking Elisabeth, I told myself. The colonel didn't show his face, but he was clenching his fists like he was having trouble being there.

"Your husband doesn't look too good," Edward said, going off topic in a less than smooth manner. "What's wrong with him?"

I gulped. He'd chosen something delicate to bring up on purpose, to throw me off. Tactful, I'd give him that. Edward wasn't exactly ignorant about the medical field. I had to deliver this right.

No. Elisabeth would deliver it right.

I huddled my shoulders like all I wanted was a warm hug and tightened my brow until it bunched so I could cry a little if it came to it.

"Jimmy was in an accident," I said softly, setting my voice on the edge of breaking. "Several weeks ago."

"What, and you're traveling with him?" Edward asked, his voice nearly reaching skepticism.

I cursed the Elric name. If this had been anyone else they would have bought it without a hitch. I should have just said leukemia. No one ever questioned leukemia.

I had to be convincing. I'd gone against the colonel's orders and met Edward's eyes, acknowledged his presence. If I screwed up now in front of the colonel…

At least we'd finally have someone on our side.

But I couldn't let it come to that.

My expression softened and my voice softened. "There was a lot of internal damage. They did their best."

I stopped there, letting the vagueness say more than words could have or that was the idea. Edward caught the vibe. Elisabeth wasn't talking about a recovery, a two-way ticket deal. It was death. She was talking about the slow kind of death; the kind you know is coming but takes a while to take effect. Unstable but certain. Lurking, waiting, tormenting. Hurting.

Edward dropped the suspicion from his eyes and looked at me the way all the others had; like I was brave. Because my husband was going to die and I was going to stay with him…to the very end.

I felt a sob lurch in my chest and I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep it from coming out. But it was too late. Edward had noticed and so, discreetly, had the colonel. I kept my shoulders back from shaking, but the tears dripped against my will. My eyes stung as the make-up around them ran into their corners. Fake tears were fine. This was not. I'd lost control.

I'd been irritated with all the foolish romantics swooning over James and Elisabeth's tragic tale, laughed at their awed comments, scoffed at their looks of pity and respect. But somehow having Edward look at me that way made things a lot harder. I felt it. I didn't feel like Elisabeth Smith anymore. I was Riza again.

And I'd mopped the colonel's blood off the breakfast table that morning and he hadn't shown much improvement since then besides consciousness and I couldn't know if I'd made a mistake in treating him unless he dropped dead. The Fuhrer, Drachma, flame alchemy, didn't mean anything. I hadn't said I'd protect any of them. But now I felt it, all of it. I couldn't protect Roy either. I just had to wait and see, to see if the damage really was too great. To wonder if I'd really done all I could.

I inhaled deep and shaky, the way I had long ago to keep myself from crying after my father had died. I reached next to me without looking and picked up the colonel's hand by the fingers and kissed the knuckles, apologizing in a broken whisper, though not specifying for what. I felt his hand twitch slightly as I set it gently back down but I didn't blush. I was too muddled to blush. Edward looked at me like he'd broken a vase and he really wished he hadn't.

"I need to…" The breaks in my voice concealed the fact that I'd stopped putting on my Elisabeth dialect. I stood. "I'm going to…Call me if something…Just something."

I walked across the car to the bathroom and shut myself inside, holding onto the lock like I didn't trust it to keep everything out.

The colonel hadn't done anything to stop me from getting up. Whether he liked having Edward so near to him or not, we both knew that Edward would keep him safe if it came to it while I was gone, even if Edward hadn't recognized who he was sitting next to just yet.

So I took my coffee break.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Fullmetal, partial metal, no metal.

I stared in the mirror, mopping mascara and foundation goop off my tear soaked cheek. Usually having a good cry was supposed to get it out of your system, but I just felt worse. I wasn't crying anymore, but my eyes felt hot and puffy and my sinuses were blocked. Not to mention there was an achy pressure building in my temples and for some reason, on top of all of it, my lips were chapped.

I thanked God for the make-up I'd put in my purse on our way out of my apartment. For the most part I could at least cover up the parts where Riza Hawkeye had cried and replace them with something glittery for Elisabeth. I winced, squinting one eye. The purple eye-shadow stung when I applied it onto where I'd been rubbing my lids.

Oddly enough, I felt shy. Not just embarrassed or awkward, but shy. I'd shattered in front of the colonel and even in a half-awareness he would have figured out I wasn't acting out all of it. I'd kissed his hand and then more or less apologized for ever being born. I was nervous to hear what he'd say to me after witnessing such a break in my character. And recent break in following orders.

I'd been in the bathroom for a decent fifteen minutes. No disturbances, but there was a good chance Edward had recognized the colonel by now, what with standing in as his babysitter for me. It would've been inexcusable for the colonel's cover to have been blown while his lieutenant was taking an emotional break. I felt like a student who'd just received her first tardy.

But then…

If Edward figured it out…

I wouldn't have to pick up the pieces on my own.

It was a guilty thought, but it made me feel better.

The colonel had fallen asleep when I got back to my seat. Edward hadn't. He was flipping through a newspaper, skipping more articles than he bothered to read. He saw me approaching and handed it over to the guy diagonal from him.

"Thanks, man," Edward said. "Appreciate it."

I sat down and set my purse in my lap, trying not to look too hard at the colonel. He'd probably just look awful and I'd start crying again. Edward turned to me.

"Get yourself lame and people will let you borrow anything," he said with a cheeky grin.

I managed to smile back. I assumed he was talking about the newspaper. He set his elbow on the back of his seat and rested his chin on his knuckles contemplatively.

"He doesn't say much," Edward said, gesturing to the colonel. "Actually, he hasn't said anything. I tried to stick with yes or no questions so he could nod if he needed something."

Classic. The colonel liked putting on voices on the telephone or radio, but acting out James Smith for Edward seemed to have proven to be a bit much for him.

"He's tired," I said, trying not to think about exactly how tired he was.

"No kidding," Edward chuckled, glancing at the colonel.

I wondered if the colonel was bleeding again.

I could see Edward analyzing my face now, my voice and body language. He was trying to figure me out. That was Edward. He had to figure everything out.

He sighed, dropping his shoulders a little. "I'm sorry if I upset you earlier, ma'am. I didn't realize I was prying. I swear."

I nodded, tightening my face until it smiled. Hearing him apologize for it made it like it was something to apologize for. It hurt. My eyes literally hurt.

"I usually don't travel like this," he said, looking at his crutches. "I'm getting a new prosthetic soon but we don't know when."

He was making amends for having me share something personal by sharing something personal of his own. All these years and the kid was still living by equivalent exchange.

"Having trouble covering the cost?" I asked in my Elisabeth voice.

Riza Hawkeye knew the question was fluff. Edward had enough money left in his old alchemic research account for him to live out the rest of his life like the Armstrong family. I knew. I'd had friends who'd worked at the treasury. According to them, Edward could have bought the rights to automail and started his own private monopoly over it.

"Actually," Edward replied. "I was in an accident of my own and my doctors do what they can do. Just can't fix everything, you know? Can't make it how it used to be. Guess you could say I've been through too many…procedures."

Procedures? Was he talking about having gone through the portal all those times? That's where it all started, after all. I tried not to look too interested. Even Elisabeth Smith wouldn't be as curious as Riza Hawkeye about this.

"Sorry to hear that," I said.

"No big deal," he said, cracking a jagged grin. "It won't kill me. Just a hassle when it acts up."

I couldn't help but feel that Edward looked pitiful. He had decent health and a bright smile, but crutches and a half-leg didn't suit him or his preferred lifestyle; the dangerous kind of lifestyle that made people worry about him. I wanted to find out more about it but I shied from it, knowing I'd be getting suspiciously personal and I could only fix one thing at a time, if I could even do that much.

The train started screeching and hissing and I could feel the friction of the tracks underneath us slowing to a stop. Something fell onto my arm, something limp, sloppy. I glanced over and caught the colonel staring at me. He tightened his hand on my wrist. I couldn't feel it much but I could see his knuckles working at it. He looked drained, like he needed to lie down.

"Our stop," he said.

He moved his lips better then he projected his voice. He was doing that face, the tense one, forcing itself from twisting or cringing. He was trying not to groan. He was telling me he needed help. I felt my heart miss a couple beats before commencing into a heavy pounding. I practically hurdled out of my seat.

"Yes, our stop," I agreed, yanking our bags down and hoisting them onto the colonel's lap in the same movement. "We'll get off. Don't worry, James."

I got behind the colonel's chair, pushing him forward.

Edward looked up at us with a knit brow. "You going to be okay?"

I nodded, keeping on toward the door.

Was the colonel thirsty? After losing so much blood he was probably dehydrated. Dehydration in his muscles would make him ache. Or maybe he really had started to bleed again. All the stress on his body from trying to avoid Edward could have easily ripped through his stitches. We'd have to find a hotel and…I didn't want to have to stitch him up again. He was more alert now and he'd probably squirm and fuss. I'd have to put something in his mouth to muffle the sound. I'd have to use thick thread, a thick needle to hold him together the way he was. Even a thin one would have been excruciating with my clumsy hands. He'd probably vomit from the pain. I could shoot a gun better than almost anyone but I couldn't embroider a cushion to save my life. Two very different forms of accuracy.

I bit down on my tongue, distracting myself with the dull pain. One of the passengers stepped forward and helped me get the colonel off the train. As careful as we were with him, the colonel still felt the movement and I could see it in his eyes. I breathed through my nose in sharp gulping gasps, trying my best not to make it audible. Maybe the colonel just had to pee again. Maybe he just had to pee.

And maybe he didn't like the bathrooms on the train?

I pushed him away from the station in silence and we listened to the train take off behind us. I felt the tips of the wind coming off the sides of the train and whip through my hair, blowing it across my back. That was it then. We'd never see Edward again.

We came onto a side road. I unbuttoned the front of my coat with one hand, continuing to push the chair with the other. We'd gone somewhat south of Central and the winter weather was milder here, even at night. I could barely make out the sign, but I could shape the letters into 'Packhorse.' I wondered if that was the name of the town we'd stopped at, the name of the road, or a warning about travelers coming through on horses.

The colonel breathed like he could've been sobbing.

"Sir?" I said, kneeling in front of him and pulling off the bags from his lap. "Sir, can you talk?"

"Woke up and it just hurt," he said, his voice shaking.

"More than before?"

"Don't know."

Well, he hadn't been very conscious before. I pulled off his hat and felt his forehead. I told myself the moonlight was making him look paler than he was and that my hands were cold and that was why his face felt so hot in my palm.

"You need to lie down," I said, unbuttoning the top of his coat. "We need to get you to a bed, sir."

My heart stopped.

In a split-second motion I released the button, the collar, the coat. Adrenaline shot through me like a rush of liquid electricity through my veins. I whipped back my mauve coat, hiked up my skirt, and pulled the revolver out of its holster at my thigh, taking off the safety. I stood in front of the colonel with my back to him and took a step forward.

"Don't move!" I said, cocking my gun with the underside of my thumb.

"I don't plan on it," Edward replied.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Death of Elisabeth Smith

I dropped the gun to my side. My knees swerved for about two and a half seconds before I steadied myself and evened my stance to something that didn't look like I was positioned to shoot someone. I wrinkled my brow like I'd found mold on bread I'd bought yesterday.

"You," I said, almost breathing it.

I felt a little sick. Maybe relieved, but sick. Edward had shocked me to pieces. He was sitting on one of the crumbling stone half-walls lining the roads with his suitcase next to him and his crutches leaning against the wall. I couldn't see too much of his face but he wasn't smiling.

"I'm not coming back with you," he said, his voice bitter, on the verge of anger. "I'm done with it, okay?"

I sank a little, trying not to seem too confused. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on lieutenant!" he said, throwing his head back to look at the black sky like he'd rather look at that than me. "I've seen that getup before. We worked together, remember? What is it…Beth something?"

So he'd known. The gun dropped out of my hand and thumped on the ground. I felt doubly clumsy. Only Edward. Only him.

"I'm not joining up again," he said in a raised tone.

This was more him, the boy with the temper. This was the kid I remembered.

"I mean, do I look like I'll be joining up again?" he laughed, leaning back to look at his stump. "I'm not an alchemist anymore so screw it. I'm done."

I folded my arms. So that was it. "You got off of the train to tell us that?"

Edward laughed sardonically. "Hell, I got on to tell you that. That wasn't even my train. I just didn't want you in Risembool. Saw you through your window and figured I'd try to get it over with on board."

He really was clueless. He honestly thought we were there for him. I cleared my throat. I wanted to tell him what we'd really been on the train for. I wanted to push the colonel close enough for Edward to see how sick he was.

"Well," I said, my eyes darting to the side then back to Edward. I sighed. "It was worth a try. But you couldn't pass the physical examination with your leg acting up so I suppose there's nothing we can do. If you're ever interested in going into alchemic research…"

"Yeah, because I haven't done that before."

He sounded cruel. What I could see of his face was glaring. It was odd. He'd left us at Central with a smile on his face. It wasn't like him to greet me so coldly. Not me. Maybe the colonel, but Edward and I had never been at odds with one another before. He'd trusted me. We'd gotten along better than he'd gotten along with most of the other soldiers. For him to jump right in, already geared up to be harsh, he must have been unbelievable scared.

"Tell the colonel he can kiss my ass," he said. "He kisses everyone else's."

I fought a laugh in my nose because what he said was true on occasion. "Why don't you just tell him yourself?" I asked, stepping to the side. "He's awake now."

Edward slid off the wall and balanced on a crutch. "I'm not calling him long-distance to tell him to kiss my ass."

He stared at me like I was weird and I stared at him like he wasn't making sense.

I frowned. "But…"

The colonel brushed my coat with his fingertips, breathing heavy at the expense of reaching. "Don't."

I kept my eyes on Edward. He hadn't noticed the colonel was the colonel? I felt almost embarrassed for all three of us. My disguise had been obvious enough to Edward but it turned out the colonel really was altered beyond recognition, at least with his collar up and his hat tilted down. Even for Edward Elric the colonel looked too ill to ring bells if you weren't looking for him.

"Goodbye, Ed," I said.

I picked up and re-holstered my gun then stepped behind the wheelchair and took its handles. Edward swung his suitcase over his shoulder and balanced himself on his crutches.

"Bye, lieutenant."

Turning away from him was horrifying in its own dumbed down way. I felt numb detaching myself from what may have been my last run-in with an ally. We'd spend the night here and we'd probably be in another nowhere the next day and another by the next. It was like I didn't care because I knew I could fix everything on my own. But there were spikes, slicing pangs of reality when things would become clear and I'd feel it. I was alone and as soon as Edward was out of earshot the colonel would start moaning again and I'd have to check his temperature and figure it out.

"Hey, lieutenant," Edward called.

I spun around, not having realized he was still so close. Maybe walking on crutches with a suitcase in his arm wasn't the swiftest way to travel.

"Why'd you get off here?" he asked, the softened curiosity in his voice tainted by a sudden suspicion. "I mean, you didn't even bother to talk to me about joining up again before you got off. This is nowhere."

"Don't," the colonel whispered hoarsely.

I folded my arms. "My friend wasn't feeling well."

Edward didn't turn his back. He stared forward.

"So that wasn't part of his disguise?" he said, limping forward. "Who is this guy? Military?"

I backed into the chair, jabbing the backs of my ankles on the wheel-brakes.

"A friend," I said, my words taking on a breathless quality. "We're fine."

Edward continued forward. "Is that why you were crying? I mean, I thought it looked a little convincing, even for you. Do you need help? This is the middle of nowhere."

I could hear the colonel breathing too, not exactly heavy. More labored like he was being smothered.

"No, we're fine!" I said. I fought the urge to compare myself to a frantic horse in need of restraints.

Clack, step, clack, step.

"It's kind of strange," Edward said. "That the colonel would send you here on your own. I mean, not with him. He sends the other guys out, but not you. You guys were together when you came to check me out the first time. Why didn't he come this time?"

Clack, step, clack, step.

"He would've wanted to see me, right?"

Clack, step, clack, step.

"It's been four years. He should've come with you. And he had you bring an invalid instead? Was I a side job on your way to some kind of hospice or something?"

Clack, step.

Edward stood facing me from three feet away. I stood between his gaze and the colonel.

"You look really upset," Edward said, softening his tone with concern. "You're not acting like you at all. Why were you crying for this guy? Where's the colonel?"

I felt something warm trickle down my face and I hoped to God I was bleeding from the eyes. I couldn't cry again. I wouldn't. At this point it would just be disgraceful. I balled my hands into fists, grinding my teeth to keep from saying what I needed to say.

"Riza, don't," the colonel said wearily like he was about to pass out again.

Edward leaned forward, trying to catch the colonel's words. He looked at me. "Come on; where is he?"

"No," said the colonel.

"He's right here!" I said. "And he's been shot seven times and I think he's going to die."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Edward gives some input but not the right kind

The bellhop did a good job of getting the colonel up the stairs considering the colonel was out like deadweight. Edward hopped up one stair at a time like he was scaling the steps on a pogo-stick. All the rooms on the ground floor were taken or reserved and there wasn't an elevator. The Packhorse Inn was surprisingly nice for such an obscure town. Apparently a lot of well-to-do characters took their honeymoons in Packhorse when they'd eloped with some blue-collar nobody.

The leniency on background checks during check-ins was a nice touch.

We made it to our suite, the only one left during winter holiday. It went last because the window looked on to the back lot where they kept the dumpsters. I had no objections. The view would probably leave us less likely to be spotted and gave me a good vantage point if firearms came into play.

The suite had two bedrooms and a long couch in the sitting room. Obviously the colonel would get a bedroom to himself and then Edward decided to stay on the couch so I could have my own bathroom. Apparently Winry had taught him that that sort of thing was important to women.

I wheeled the colonel into his room; he was asleep, or I told myself he was asleep. He was more likely knocked out. Edward flicked on the lights behind us and hobbled in, his hands looking twitchy on his crutches like he felt the need to help but he didn't know how. I pulled our bags off from the colonel's lap and threw them on the floor at the end of the bed. The colonel coughed in a strained way that made me worry he was having trouble breathing.

"So," Edward said, speaking over the colonel's unconscious groans. "A bunch of hit-men from Drachma did this to him?"

"He said it could have been the ambassador," I replied.

I stripped the bed so that all that remained was the bottom sheet. It would be easier to maneuver the colonel onto it that way.

"But the Fuhrer?" said Edward skeptically. "He's trustworthy."

"Exactly," I said. "It was starting to look like King Grumman had been dishonest with the ambassador by allowing an outsider to spy in on their private meeting. The colonel made a split-second decision. He had to make it clear that Grumman wasn't involved, that the colonel had acted on his own."

"Can't get any more clear than shooting the guy, I'll give him that."

I pulled the colonel's chair up next to the bed and parked it. "Get over here, Ed. I could use some help."

Edward stared at me like I was five. "I'm short a limb."

"I just want you to steady him," I said impatiently. "I'm not asking you to piggy-back him down the stairs."

Edward smiled, standing. "I wouldn't do that with both my legs."

Every time Edward made a jab at the colonel, he'd look down at him to see if maybe he'd heard. It was subtle, but it showed me Edward was worried. Maybe not as worried as I was, but still worried.

I had an excuse, though. I'd dug seven bullets out of the colonel in my apartment hallway that morning. Seven very real reasons to be worried.

Edward sat at the foot of the bed, his hands under the colonel's shoulders in preparation.

"Don't you want to take the coat off first?" Edward asked, flicking at the mahogany-brown collar of the colonel's hand-me-down wool coat.

I shook my head. "I'll unbutton it under him once we've laid him down. It's thick. It'll catch the blood so none of it soaks into the sheets."

Edward paled. "Okay."

"I'll lift him, but you need to help me get his head up so I can bring his legs after him. He's like deadweight so if his body twists or drops he could really do some damage."

Edward nodded. "I know the drill. When you're ready."

We heaved the colonel up and Edward stepped in quickly like I'd figured he would. The lack of limb turned out not to have inhibited Edward's ability to haul the majority of the colonel's weight.

I was glad to have Edward to help me. The colonel was military. He was built of muscle, practically a requirement for a soldier still involved in fieldwork. He was dense which had made moving him, though possible, very inconvenient for a woman; even a military woman. Edward was an appreciated commodity.

The colonel choked on a breath, gasping sharply. His face twisted and he made an "mm" sound, but not like he was eating something yummy. Edward eased him up the rest of the way. I lifted his head a bit to slide a pillow under it. I could at least spare him from a neck ache.

"He feels mushy," Edward said, looking down at his palms. "Like his skin was squishing around his muscles and his bones were sliding around inside of him."

I frowned at Edward's unnecessarily graphic description. I couldn't help but feel that he was being insensitive. I started unbuttoning the colonel's coat.

"He's not going to be happy," I said. "Me getting you involved."

"Hell, I'm unhappy about it," said Edward.

"I'm serious, Edward. He's going to be mad. He didn't want anyone to know."

"Well, sure."

I peeled the coat open and began pulling the colonel's arms out from the sleeves one after the other. The colonel was limp so I could drop his arm like a heavy rope. He had his sweat-streaked face angled up so I could see his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth in his sleep. His throat moved with every breath, every cough, every sob, and every swallow.

He was breathing too quickly.

Edward leaned over him. "He doesn't look good."

"You've said that already."

"No, but his shirt's clinging to him like it's wet."

I frowned. "Sweat. He's been having fevers all day." I sighed to myself, "Probably fighting an infection by now."

"Are you sure?" Edward asked.

"Yes."

"Because, it kind of smells like blood."

"Well, he does have some open wounds," I said, fighting the urge to turn rigid. "I stitched them up. No worries, Edward."

I touched the colonel's forehead for the hundredth time that day and was relieved to feel it had cooled to just barely elevated.

"You know? That kind of metallic humid smell, like raw beef-steaks in the sun."

"I know, Edward, but…" I paused, turning to him. "You can smell that? It's that strong to you?"

"Well you've been smelling it all day, I guess," he said. "But trust me. I spent a day wading around in Gluttony's stomach. I know blood when I smell it."

I looked down at the colonel and wondered why he wasn't making as much of a fuss as he had been. I told myself that all of the catastrophe's I'd been coming up with in my head all day were just worst case scenarios and that I was being emotional again. But even worst case scenarios were possible scenarios.

"I just think you should double check," said Edward, looking over at me with almost childlike eyes.

"Yeah," I said, disoriented as I tried not to panic again. "That's probably the right thing to do."

I opened the colonel's shirt and found that it wasn't as bad as I had feared it would be.

It was still pretty bad, though.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Seventeen Towels

"Lieutenant, are you sure that's a good idea?" Edward said.

I pulled my hair back, still stiff with traces of hairspray leftover from my disguise. "Actually, it's a great idea."

"You don't want a cup of coffee?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Energy."

I sighed, sinking into my boots a little. It was true. I hadn't been very good about keeping up with sleep over the past couple of nights. My hands were growing prone to fumble as the night went on too. Doing a patch-job on the colonel right then probably wasn't a perfect idea. But in the given circumstances, it was at least a possible one.

"I've done this before, Edward," I said, throwing off my pleated coat then rummaging through the pockets to find the first-aid pouch with the needle and thread in it. "Stop worrying. I'm jittery enough without you hovering."

"You need me to leave?" he asked.

He spoke like if I answered in the affirmative he'd call a mental institution to come pick me up and put me in a strait jacket. I supposed I was acting a little off. Impulsive. I never acted impulsive. Maybe I acted on instinct but never on impulse. I slowed down.

"No," I said. "I need you to help me. I'm going to try to finish before he wakes up but if he starts to thrash I want you to try to calm him down."

Edward blinked.

"Do it, alright?" I said.

"No, I wasn't refusing or anything. I just don't get this. I thought we were done with all his conspiracies and stuff. I mean, I'm on crutches. I can't do anything this time. I can't even use alchehestry on him."

I rolled my eyes like a schoolgirl. "People have survived without alchehestry before, Ed. Even you said once that alchemy couldn't solve everything."

"Yeah, well it helps. Damn, it would sure solve this."

I sat beside the colonel on the edge of the bed and began mopping around the areas where he'd torn his stitches. He gasped when I'd get too close to the open flesh; the alcohol in the witch-hazel would have stung to a piercing level. I took a deep breath. Edward was right. He should have been done with all of this.

"I'm sorry, Edward," I said softly, my eyes resting on the colonel's hacked up stomach. "This isn't fair. I've got it from here."

"Huh?" He honestly seemed confused. "You mean, go?"

"I'll tell the colonel it was a bad dream. He'll be happier, waking up without you here."

"No, but…" Edward stopped. He pivoted himself on the bed to get a better look at me. "The colonel? Wait, what do you want?"

I wrung the rag out straight onto the wooden floor. The witch-hazel trickled off in streams of translucent red. I watched it run off my fingers and fall in veins down the side of my arm, dripping delicately off my elbow.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip, drip, drip.

"Seventeen," I said, not knowing exactly why. I paused, eyes locked on the dripping rag in my hand. My mouth did the rest for me. "My grandmother left me a lot of her old things; cup towels. Mixed and matched, but she'd embroidered them all. Dish rags too and a couple bath towels. And then my pair of pale green face-cloths from my twenty-fifth birthday. Seventeen towels total."

I raised the borrowed cloth from the hotel. It was supposed to be white, but it was rosy now, streaked with sickeningly vivid red, blotted darker in places where the cloth had been soaked.

"This is clean," I said, anger flaring in my throat like heartburn. "Compared to what he did to my seventeen towels, this is pristine." I threw the rag down; it made a dull splat sound as it hit the floor. "I'm tired of wearing his blood. I'm going to stitch him up, now. I'm going to do it. But I'm tired, Edward. It hasn't even been a full twenty-four hours but I'm already killing him."

Edward frowned, his eyes shifting down onto the colonel. "You're killing him? Right. He's got you playing nurse." He looked at me. "And colonel sparky doesn't want anyone else getting involved?"

"No. He doesn't want anyone getting hurt because of him."

"Got it."

Edward scooted to the colonel's other side and glared down at him. "I'll stay."

My eyes watered against my will. "Really?"

"You won't get rid of me," he said, his face straight. "For now. I'm going to be right here. The moment he wakes up I'll be the first thing he sees. He can bust his stitches and sew himself up if he wants to. So help me, I'll have him bleeding out yelling at me."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: Riza Plays Mother

The stitches went well. The colonel had only damaged them in a few places and he remained in his haze through all my repairs. Edward held the colonel down for me a few times to insure a steady working space, but the colonel was already so weak and out of it that using force was simply more convenient than leaving him to writhe; it wasn't really necessary.

Edward was clearly impressed with how I'd worked by the end. He didn't have the proper medical background to know a novice's work when he saw it. But then, Edward wasn't the kind of person who would have been worried about pretty, even stitches. He was more impressed by whether or not they were effective, whether or not they'd hold him together in a fight three minutes after checking out of the hospital.

"Do you need to call anyone?" I asked, rearranging the cushions on the couch for Edward to sleep on. "Alphonse?"

"No, leave him," Edward replied, throwing his crutches down and flopping back on the bare couch. "He's up in Xing with Mai again. I don't want to make him think something's going on. He'd know something was going on."

"What about Winry?" I asked. "You were on your way to Risembool to get your automail sorted out, weren't you?"

"She's not expecting me," he said. "She always wants me to call ahead and make a damn appointment. So I come without calling."

I laughed at his logic. "A girl likes to be prepared when company comes," I said. "Getting you to make appointments is probably her way of asking you to warn her before you show up at her front door."

Edward flushed a little on the edges of his cheeks and ears. "I'm not an event on her calendar. I don't need a stupid appointment to see Winry. Besides, calling to make an appointment means calling to cancel if you can't be there. Winry would want a damn good reason for me not being able to make it, too. Making appointments is just her messed up way of getting inside my head and guilting me into never making her worry."

I smiled. Listening to Edward rant in his old endearing way made me feel nostalgic. But I couldn't meet his eyes without feeling a bit of shame. He was right. Poor Winry knew exactly what she was doing. If Edward had called her ahead of time so she'd been expecting him, if he'd just made some kind of commitment to her, he might have thought twice before jumping headfirst into another life threatening conspiracy, might've just done the smart thing and stayed on that train. If he'd listened, her worrying might have kept him safe.

"Hey, lieutenant," he muttered, pulling one of the spare comforters around his shoulders. He was still fully clothed down to his right boot like he wanted to be ready to get up and go and any given moment. "Get some sleep."

His eyelids were gaining control over him, falling closed more than he could manage to keep them open. Running around with only one leg had to have been exhausting, not to mention dealing all day with the fear that the Hawk's Eye had come to claim his soul back for the military.

"I'll work on it," I said.

"I'm serious," he said, glancing back at the cracked doorway leading to colonel's bedroom. "Let him take care of himself for a while."

"Thanks, Ed."

I said it warmly like I could have been sitting with him at my grandmother's breakfast table drinking tea while he waited out the rain. Having someone give me permission to sleep, to say it aloud, was almost as good as actually doing it. It would do for the time being.

Edward was twenty years old; by definition very much not a child anymore. The two of us could speak as equals and behave as equals. But saying goodnight to him as he fell asleep on the couch, still in his collared shirt and trousers, somehow managed to make me feel like I was tucking him in.

I checked on the colonel before I went to my room. He looked peaceful enough. He was still in a chilled sweat and pale like milk, but he wasn't groaning as loud and his face wasn't so tight. His breathing was tender but functional. He had gained some of his strength back, breathing deep enough for me to see his chest rise and fall under the covers.

Seeing him lying there, thriving in his stillness, I realized just how unkind travel had been to him and how cruel it had been of me to put him on that train, not that I'd had a choice. We would stay at Packhorse for a few days more at least. To rip him away from a bed so soon after coming upon it wouldn't just be cruel at this point; it would be ridiculous.

I took a shower to scrub off the leftover make-up from my face and rinse away any remaining marks of the colonel's blood that I hadn't gotten off in the kitchen sink. I turned the water to near-steam, the heat first calming me then building until uncomfortable. I turned and the water pounded across my back, perfectly bearable against the desensitized scar-tissue where the colonel had snapped his fingers and singed half the nerve endings out of my flesh.

"Daddy, you idiot!" I whispered through the humid air, scalding water bubbling down my face and dribbling off my lips as I moved them to the words.

I cranked the water off, turning the knob in a passive aggressive jerk. Slinging a towel around my body, I wrung my hair out in the sink and shook it out to air-dry without even bothering to comb it first. It was down past the small of my back now. Everyone kept telling me to cut it off for the sake of my military duties, that it wouldn't even work to wear it up anymore it had gotten so long. I'd given it thought. I'd even asked the colonel about it. Of course, he'd just rolled his eyes and asked me if I was seriously going to make my hair his problem. Well, apparently it made a good handle to yank me down with when he needed me to duck. There was always that.

I made it into my underwear before I caught the mumbling. It was hard to hear, even through the silence, and it was completely incomprehensible. It almost sounded like someone repeatedly cursing under his breath. But it was getting louder or, more accurately, it was rising and falling at more intense decibels.

It gave me a bad feeling. I recognized the voice. It was Edward. But it still gave me a bad feeling. Something told me he shouldn't have been mumbling to himself, that he needed to stop. I pulled myself into the nightgown closest to the top of my duffel, the one way too sheer to keep me warm in the winter that Elisabeth Smith probably wore on a regular basis. I strode out from the bathroom and rushed out of the bedroom without even turning on the lights on my way.

I could see him, Edward, silhouetted by the moonlight and highlighted by the dim lamp on the small table behind him. He was shifting under the covers; not tossing and turning but more jerking, like he was continuously being caught off guard. His lips moved faintly and his voice emerged from deep in the back of his throat. He was talking in his sleep.

He was still more mumbling than talking, though. I couldn't make out a word of it, even looking at his lips. Maybe he said 'no' somewhere in there, but that was a cliché guess to say the least. He seemed uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable.

I leaned down and touched his shoulder. He was shaking, almost vibrating, like he was straining all his muscles at once. I sat on the armrest behind his head and put my whole hand on his arm, holding it, squeezing gently.

"Come on, Ed. Just a dream."

The moment the pressure started coming off my fingers, Edward lurched back, arching his spine and grinding his teeth, muffling an agonized cry. He fell into himself and tried to catch his breath. I released his arm.

"Just a dream, kiddo," I said.

"Kiddo?" he said, a shiver running over him.

"You alright?"

"The portal," he said with glazed eyes.

I thought back to our conversation on the train earlier about his trip to get his leg fixed with a new prosthetic. He'd meant automail. He'd spoken in code about everything; about having an "accident," going through the portal when committing the taboo. And then he'd said he'd had too many "procedures." That had to be the portal. He'd gone through it more times than I'd ever heard of, more than anyone. He'd made it there and back more than was supposed to be possible.

But all of that was done. He'd given up his door. What could Edward Elric possibly have to do with the Portal of Truth? I'd certainly wondered on the train.

I furrowed my brow. "Truth's Gate?"

"It's the portal," he said, opening his eyes to the ceiling. "It does this to me."

I got up from the armrest and seated myself at his side at the edge of the couch; a place more suited to listening.

"What did it do to you, Edward?" I asked.

"Nightmares," he said. "All I dream about is that damn Truth guy. I don't even have a door to that gate anymore and he still found a way to suck me in." He shifted his eyes down. "Used to be getting my leg ripped off during the taboo or Al's skeleton-body waiting for me to bring him back."

"But all that's over with. You got your bodies back…" I shrugged one shoulder. "On the whole."

"But now there's just that girl."

Edward was in a half-sleep, the kind when you say obscure things and assume everyone knows exactly what you're talking about.

"Girl?" I said.

"I don't know. Just a kid. My penance for not being able to save Nina Tucker."

"You still have dreams about Nina Tucker?"

"This girl wasn't Nina. I just made her up in my head for the nightmare. She's stuck there, in the portal."

I sighed sympathetically. "Like your little brother."

"No," Edward corrected sharply like he was offended. "Al's body was trapped. He had his soul. At least he still owned that. This girl sold herself to that Truth guy, body and soul, so she could become the most powerful alchemist. And she's bound to the portal until it takes her away."

"Why would a little girl do something like that?" I said, not too much like a question but more like a, "Why, God, why?"

"Something did it to her," Edward said, glaring at the ceiling like he had a grudge with it. "She had potential and they used her. You know a little about that."

I felt my face warming into a guilt-induced blush. I leaned back from him without realizing I was doing it, my subtle imitation of retreat from a sensitive topic.

"But it's over," he said. "Like Nina. I just sit with her while she waits for the Truth guy to come and collect her. Nothing I can do. It's over for her."

I stood. "I'm sorry, Edward. You're far too young to be afflicted with shell-shock."

He shifted his eyes to meet mine without turning his head. "Nightmares suck no matter how old you are." He looked back at the ceiling and closed his eyes. "Sorry I disturbed you, lieutenant."

I prayed whatever it was that was really bothering, whatever it was he was keeping to himself, was as manageable as he'd been downplaying it to be. Edward and I had always gotten along well enough. We'd communicated with one another better than he had ever bothered to communicate with the colonel. But then, those two didn't always have to say things aloud. If anyone had seen enough of them together, it was me. They were on the same page with one another without even trying and that's all there was to it.

From the first time I talked to Roy Mustang, heard his reasoning and views, I knew there was no one in the world who could match his unorthodox, uncanny mind. And then we recruited a twelve year-old kid. People gave the colonel grief to no end over turning a little boy into a soldier; of all people, why Edward? But I saw it. For the first time, whether he realized it or not, the colonel had found someone who shared his mind. The fact that this someone was eleven years old at the time was just a minor detail.

The colonel was clearheaded enough to recognize the vast potential in himself and had decided early on what he would do with it. Recruiting Edward Elric as a state alchemist was the colonel's way of pointing Edward's paralleled potential in the right direction. He knew the ramifications if it was to go unchecked.

Maybe they rubbed one another the wrong way sometimes—most times—but the colonel would have likely been a much better friend to talk to than me at that time. I'd pulled him into a war after he'd nearly lost his life and his brother's for the sake of bringing Amnestris into peace. And with the colonel down like he was, it was beginning to look like we'd already lost. I knew how to run. I knew how to build up baraccades. I knew how to defend and I knew how to attack. But I was at a true loss as to what to do from here. My strategizing for worst-case-scenarios had never delved into the colonel making a supposed assassination attempt on the Fuhrer after learning of a new market for the secrets of Flame alchemy. I wasn't the one who gave the orders. I just carried them out. He'd been with us for a matter of hours and Edward was already becoming the team leader of the three of us; and he was well aware of it.

I paused at my doorway and turned around to check the colonel before I'd try to sleep. On my way, I stopped just as I was going past Edward. He was breathing like he could've already been asleep.

"Edward," I said. "In your dream the little girl trades herself to become the most powerful alchemist in existence."

"Yeah," he sighed, extending into a yawn.

"Does the little girl mention anything about Flame Alchemy?"

"Just a dream, lieutenant," he said, closing his eyes. "How should I know?"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen: Oh, says the guy who can't even use the bathroom on his own.

Dealing with the colonel that night was like being a new mother on the first night. He woke up around every hour to two hours saying, "Thirsty," or, "It hurts," or, "Got to pee." I thought about setting my alarm for multiple times to check on him, but decided it would be easier just to stay in the bedroom with him. At least Edward wouldn't be disturbed as much that way. I was used to sleeping in a chair anyway. I'd slept at attention with my eyes open at morning briefings easily enough.

It was around three or four in the morning when the colonel woke me up with his groans again and spoke in full sentences.

"Lieutenant," he croaked.

I jolted up in a disoriented fashion, reaching back for my gun. Of course, my nightgown was one of the few items of apparel that didn't accommodate a holster. Remembering myself, I relaxed my hand from grabbing at the empty space and rested it on my lap, looking down at the colonel lying there with his eyes still closed.

I sighed. "Need another drink, sir?"

"Where are we?"

"An inn, sir."

He opened his eyes, trying to focus them by the pathetic light of our one lit candle. His eyes were bloodshot like he'd been drinking all night. The trauma to his body from the bullets and repairs had probably strained some of the capillaries on his face and eyes into rupturing. The same thing used to happen to me when I'd get a stomach bug when I was still a little girl in school.

"What's going on?" he asked, fear stretching tight around his mouth and brow. "Are we alone?"

I swallowed. Perhaps keeping Edward from him for then insured a more peaceful evening for all of us, but the colonel was already figuring it out just by the fact that I'd hesitated to answer. No matter how damaged his body had become, his mind was still perfectly functional. It would've been better for him not to figure it out by himself. I came to sit beside the colonel at the edge of his bed.

"Edward's staying the night," I said, steadying my voice.

The colonel's eyes narrowed and he resumed his 'not a happy soldier' face. "Fullmetal?"

"Yes, sir."

"You brought Fullmetal along?"

"Sir."

"I you gave orders to leave him out of it." The colonel was speaking at a low volume with that throaty voice that sounded like he was gearing up to growl.

I found it in myself to smile. "Wouldn't be the first time I've gone against orders, sir."

"This isn't a game, Hawkeye!" he said. With his eyes fixed on me the way they were, he looked like he suspected me of cheating on him after forty years of happy marriage. "I need to know I can trust you."

I stared at him, speechless.

Trust me?

He needed to know he could trust…

Me.

I felt something rattle in my chest and then pulse through my stomach, shooting up my throat into a blatant howl of laughter. I leaned forward and cackled like a broken toy, squeaking and wheezing, quaking through every retching giggle. My eyes stung and watered from smiling to hard. The colonel looked up at me, horrified. He seemed more pissed off than confused.

"Lieutenant!" he said, an attempt to call me to attention in my nightgown again.

I chuckled to myself, shaking my head, gasping. "I'm not your lieutenant, sir." I caught my breath. "And you're not my 'sir.'"

He was contracting his face like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

I smiled, another giggle rippling up from the base of my spine. "You aren't a colonel anymore, Roy."

His jaw slackened and he relaxed all his muscles to sink into the bedding. Me calling him by his first name was by far a rarer act than him calling me by my first. Me calling him 'not a colonel' wasn't supposed to happen until he got himself promoted to general. He kept his eyes locked on me like he was holding on to dry land.

And I was letting go of him.

I exhaled, subdued. "I'm not your subordinate this time. You give me an order and I'll take it as a friendly suggestion and decide from there."

He smiled, brow raised up like a brat's. "You'll decide?"

I smiled right back. "Well, between the two of us I'm the only one who can even use the bathroom on her own, so…"

His smile flattened. This was more than patronization now. This was his new reality.

"This should be fun," he said, his voice mounting into bitter smoothness. "So, now that Fullemtal's in, were you thinking of calling over Havoc and Breda? Hell, get the whole team over here. I know how much Fuery just loves defecting. And the Armstrongs; we could use some sentimental muscle and some hard-ass steel. Bring the damn dog, for all I care."

"It wasn't your call," I said, fighting hard to leave off the 'sir,' at the end.

"It's my mess," he said, almost proud. "You're just along for the ride. You don't get to invite other people to another guy's party. It's shitty manners."

"Yes, because manners are exactly what I should be worried about right now."

He scowled. "You got yourself involved."

"You broke in to me house!"

"You would've gotten involved."

"You would've bled to death on the street."

"You always get involved."

"Shut…" I took a deep breath. "up!"

I flinched, realizing I'd raised my voice enough to bleed through the walls into where Edward was sleeping. I exhaled slowly.

"Listen, Hawkeye…"

"No," I said. "You can try listening to me. I'm all there is."

"Lieutenant!"

"Shut it, alright Roy? Edward may spend some time helping us figure this out, but he's leaving. Everyone will leave but me; I promise. No one else is going to think you're worth sticking around for. Shut up about who's getting involved. None of it matters. I'm the only one who's staying involved." I took a long breath and he watched me, speechless. "I'm all there is, Roy."

"Riza…"

"I washed your blood out of my hair in the shower! Don't tell me I'm just along for your Goddamned ride."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen: I'll leave you two kids alone.

The colonel's eyes were open again, stirred by the dawn's light streaming through the curtains. He had an uncanny ability to wake up at exactly the moments I was leaning over him, this time reaching across to replace the cloth on his forehead. I straightened, praying my nightgown of choice for this night had been more effectively conservative than my one from the night before. I didn't need another half-conscious breast observation.

"Lieutenant…" He swallowed. "Riza?"

I gave him a smirk. "How do you feel?"

He was quiet for a moment, breathing evenly like he was still asleep. He inhaled slowly through his mouth.

"Is that…?" He squinted his eyes like he was trying to see my better, leaning a little. "What's that line there? It looks like you scratched yourself on something."

I reached my hand onto my neck and touched it, the thin line of discolored skin raised along my throat. I brushed it with the tips of two fingers and felt along it.

"The Promise Day?" I said.

He knit his brow, his black eyes softening like melted tar. "I didn't know you still had the scar."

"Well, that tends to happen with scars. Usually pretty permanent."

"Sure," he said, his eyes still fixed. "But that girl from Xing healed you."

"She did. She stopped the bleeding," I replied. "She saved my life."

"I never noticed it. I mean, the uniform would've covered your neck most of the time, but…"

"I usually cover it," I said. "With tinted powder."

"Make-up?"

"When I need to. I've been with you all night. I haven't had the chance yet."

"It's not that noticeable."

"It's distracting."

He paused, lowering his eyes. "To me," he said, smiling. "You mean it's distracting to me."

"I mean scars are distracting," I said, my mouth turning down slightly. "Especially on women."

I found that I had subconsciously begun touching my shoulders, running my hands along the old scars exposed by my nightgown. The colonel refocused his eyes on me. This nightgown came up higher on my chest than the other had, but this one had straps rather than sleeves and exposed enough of my back to give anyone within a reasonable distance a decent view of my burned back.

The colonel looked uneasy. He hadn't seen it in a long time; not since turning it to charred meat. I hadn't even let him take care of me during my recovery, never hinted at needing to be taken care of at all. He'd never seen the final product. No one really had. It wasn't the sort of thing a girl wanted to show off.

The early morning light was bright enough for him to see me clearly now. I let go of my shoulders.

"I thought those would've gone away a little more, also," he said.

"Better than it was the first year," I said. "It's okay. It doesn't hurt."

He just kept staring like somehow doing that would make it possible for him to puzzle me out. I stepped back.

"Distracting," I said, looking away.

I knelt at the foot of his bed and reached into his suitcase, pulling out one of my father's old button-down shirts. I pulled it on, rolling up the sleeves to my wrists and popping the collar around my neck.

"There," I said, standing. "Let's worry about your scars. Have you been feeling any sharp pains?"

Roy didn't get the chance to answer. After a quick warning-knock, Edward slammed open the door and limped through like a sleepy elephant.

"Hey," he said, scowling. "I said I wanted to be the first thing he saw when he woke up."

I grinned past the will of my face, glad for the interruption. "I'm sorry, Edward. He woke up during the night too many times to count. He can see you now."

Edward limped over, leaning on the doorway, the dresser, and then the end of the bed for support without the help of his crutches. He sat at Roy's feet, staring down at him flatly.

"You making the lieutenant worry again?" he asked, drawling it out like a mother scolding a child who often made trouble.

Roy raised his brow, his eyes barely open enough to have seen Edward clearly. It was like he didn't care to see him.

"Go home, Fullmetal," he said.

Edward scowled, the tips of his ears pinking. "Like you have any room to talk."

"We already got it figured out," said Roy.

I let them keep talking like I wasn't sitting there. It was like observing war criminals from behind a double-mirror.

"You're a mess, you know that?" Edward chuckled dryly. "You've got the lieutenant nursing on you like you're a sick baby."

"You've got one leg."

"At least I can stand on it," Edward fumed. "You've got two and you're still hopeless."

"I'll be fine in a few days."

I laughed. "Try a few weeks."

"We don't need anyone else involved, Fullmetal." said Roy, ignoring my correction. "Especially not a crippled civilian."

"Hey, Fullmetal's not the crippled civilian, sparky," Edward said through clenched teeth. "Start talking about Edward Elric for once and maybe he'll hear you out."

"Alright," said Roy. "Edward, then…"

"Getting just the lieutenant involved seems tidy for you," said Edward. "But you should've seen her last night. I mean, she sewed you up with a girly needle-point set; I swear she used purple thread. You were fussing and moaning all over the place and she just pushed you back down and kept stitching. I told her to sleep afterward, but she probably snuck back in here as soon as I was out and spent the whole night keeping you comfortable. I mean, have you even looked at your stomach yet? You look like a human pasta strainer!"

The colonel's eyes were more open now, peeled back, locked on me. I felt myself begin to flush.

"You don't have to look," I said. "You're doing better already."

"It's been bad?" Roy asked.

I meant to laugh but it came out sounding like a sob. I cleared my throat. "You're doing better."

Edward sighed. "I'm not on board with any conspiracy. The lieutenant can do this on her own. We all know she can. But I'll stick around for now, even if it just means pissing you off for a while. After all the crap she's taking for you, I'd say she deserves to have a break from babysitting when I can give it to her. You're no use at figuring any of this out, anyway."

"Like a flame alchemist in the rain," I said, smiling to myself.

The colonel stiffened. He never did like doing nothing.

"Alright, Fullmetal," he said in a low, tired way. "Get out. Close the door behind you. I need to talk to her."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen: Of all people…

"Why Fullmetal?" asked the colonel.

"He prefers to go by 'Edward,' now," I said. "We need him."

"I understand," he said, sighing. "I do. But if we have to get someone involved I'd rather go with Havoc like we talked about. Or Breda. He's got a mind for strategizing. I could use an inside man to help me figure out what's going on in Central while I'm out of town convalescing."

"Our priority is to keep you alive," I said, tilting my chin down, meeting his gaze. "And hidden. Neither of those has been particularly easy so far. We can talk about central and inside men later."

"Then hire a nurse," Roy said, spouting. "I don't want that kid finding out something he doesn't like and screwing everyone over for the sake of his personal moral code."

"He's twenty years old, Roy," I said in a near whine. "About as old as I was when I was sniping people in Ishbal. And he's already seen more than we ever saw over there. He gave you a hard time earlier because it really has been bad and I think he was probably a little uneasy realizing how much the two of us have taken on this time. Ed mouthed off like Ed does but I promise it was completely justified. So far he's been the most level-headed of the three of us through this entire operation. Havoc and Breda would've probably just waited for my orders as soon as they found out you wouldn't be giving any. I don't need a team. We don't need an inside man. What we need is Edward. Maybe he's not a soldier, but he's a good man, a smart man. His personal moral code may be the only thing keeping him at your bedside instead of walking out on you like he should."

Roy stared up at me, his dark eyes clearer than they had been, focused, shiny-wet. His expression was almost blank, his mouth a slack line over his stone-grey stare. But his brow was tense like he was about to crinkle it together, narrowing his already narrow eyes.

"So," he said, his voice suddenly gentle and empty, reminding me of rain misting against glass. "What's keeping you here?"

I was quiet for a moment, my jaw loose, lips parted slightly.

I smiled. "You mentioned the mass production of Flame Alchemy?"

"You got involved before that."

I sighed. "I only joined the military because I was afraid you were going to get yourself killed out there," I said. "What's the point of staying in if you're out?"

"You could die."

He was frowning.

His eyes locked onto my neck. I pulled the collar down the rest of the way and plainly revealed the scar on my throat.

"This is my favorite one," I said, touching it lightly. "Of all my scars. It reminds me of how you looked at me when you realized I was going to die and you knew that I admired you for not saving my life."

His eyes widened slightly, like staring into my gaze had suddenly become frightening.

"You were so frustrated," I chuckled. "Like a hungry child standing in front of a cake he could never have. It makes me smile, remembering how you sweat from the effort it took you to hold back, how you ground your teeth and breathed like you'd just run ten miles. Your eyes started sparkling like they were filling with tears. It got dark so quickly from there, but I like to imagine that you would've cried for me." I breathed. "It was just as it should have been."

Roy tensed his whole body, tilting his chin to his chest as he met my eyes; he used to get just like that every time he'd hear a reference to Maes Hughes after his death. It was like Roy was reliving his desire to avenge me despite the fact that I'd escaped death.

I tried to smile without looking uneasy. "Watching you watching me, seeing you as you were, seeing you strong. You were the man I swore to protect. I was ready."

"You were ready to die for me?" Roy said, smirking bitterly. "And that's supposed to ease my nerves?"

"You're missing the point. Death was something I'd always thought would be frightening; but it was easy. Knowing you would still be there to grieve for me made it so much easier. After my father died…with no one left, I thought I'd die alone someday and no one would even notice I was gone." I smiled gently. "Don't think I'm standing by you because I plan on making a martyr of myself. But can you blame me for not wanting you to die first after all that?"

The colonel was smiling with stunningly unexpected purpose.

"Well, that hardly seems fair," he said. "I'm not allowed to die on your watch but I have to sit back and do nothing when you die?"

"You have to sit back and cry for me," I corrected, grinning.

"Yeah, I'll try to remember that for next time."

He coughed in the back of his throat, closing his eyes then opening them after a lengthy moment. He looked so tired. It scared me to let him doze. Hearing him talk, seeing him see me, had reminded me that he was still alive. As silly as that was, I needed that.

"I'm staying with you, sir," I said slowly. "You're not going to be alone."

"I know," he said, his voice growing thin.

Somehow calling him 'sir' didn't seem so wrong this time, not now that it was optional. It was less like military conduct and more like a title of endearment between old friends. From this point on, I would probably be the only one left who would ever slip up and call him 'sir.' Hearing it come out of my mouth this once was almost soothing.

Our brief calmness was interrupted by a sharp groan coming from the sitting room and the clatter of something heavy falling to the ground. This was quickly followed by another cry and a thud I easily recognized as the sound of a body hitting the floor.

I jumped up, drawing my handgun out from its holster at my thigh. Roy stared up at me in a way that said, "You sleep with a gun strapped to your leg?"

I stepped to the door, leaning on the frame. "Edward probably tripped. Just sit tight."

I swung through the door and into the sitting room, shutting the door behind me in the same motion. I sighed, holstering my gun before I could even point it. Edward sat on the hardwood floor, his back leaned against the edge of the couch, the coffee table on its side in front of him surrounded by shards of what used to be a juice glass and tiny puddles of spilt water. He was breathing quick and heavy, running the palms of his hands up and down his stump in slow deliberate movements.

"Ow!" Edward cried, shooting his hands down to grip the end of his stump. "Ouch. Ow, ow, ow."

"Ed," I said, coming to his side. "What's wrong? Did you bump your leg?"

His voice shook. "The weather. It's making me ache." He ground his teeth, groaning deep in his throat. He took a sharp breath. "Pretty bad this time."

"Do you need anything?" I asked, gazing out the window at the approaching black clouds. "Tea?"

He shook his head, breathing heavy through his nose. Tiny beads of sweat began to form and trickle off his temples. He was trembling, almost vibrating through the pain.

"Storms do this to you?"

"Been sore since last night," he said. "Didn't realize…" He breathed. "How close the rain was. Dammit!"

He massaged his half-leg, gulping then choking into another breath. I was impressed that he'd managed to fulfil his duties as a State Alchemist with a handicap like this acting up at a bit of hard rain.

"I'm sorry," I said, touching his shoulder. "You never let on. I would have never guessed."

"Wasn't like this back then," he said. "Not even close. It's that portal. Went through too many times. It's like the rest of my leg is pulling this part back to it."

He scrunched his eyes shut, pursing his lips, throwing his head back hard, moaning through his teeth. I felt my eyes water, my chest retching as it tried to force me into a sob. I held Edward's shoulder, patting him as softly as I could manage. He seemed suddenly breakable.

"I had no idea," I said.

"It's none of your business," he replied eventually. "I don't answer to you bastards anymore."

"You mean the military."

He gasped, exhaled then gasped again, one then another before he could catch his breath. He coughed, drawing it out into another groan then gasping again.

"Thunder," he said, clenching his fists around where his trousers tied off at his stump. "I swear it's going to be thunder this time."

He coughed again, lurching forward into dry heaves. I had both hands on his shoulders now, trying desperately to ease him into stillness. My father had suffered from constant pain for years before his death. It was hard to see it again, especially from Edward, but if he needed a nurse I wasn't a bad one.

"Hush," I comforted. "Just breathe, Ed, breathe, breathe."

He choked. "I'm trying."

"Do I need to find you a bucket?" I asked.

He shook his head, swallowing, panting with his mouth closed. "Get me to the bathroom."

I took his arm. "Just lean on me. Try not to take too much weight. All I need is for you to keep yourself steady."

He cringed, jerking from my hold to grab his stump again. "Ouch!" he squeaked.

"It's a short walk, Ed. I've got you," I said.

He gave me his arm again, nodding, breathing. I pulled him up, surprised at how heavy he'd gotten, even without his left leg. He'd gotten so tall next to me, and I was tall for a woman. Four years could do a lot for an adolescent. I held his arm around my shoulders and hugged my other arm around his waist, stepping forward and easing him along with me. He dragged a little, causing me to swerve.

"Come on, Edward," I said. "Try to stay steady. I need your help."

"Can I use your bathroom?" he asked shakily.

I blinked. "Roy's is closer."

"We don't have to tell the Colonel," Edward said.

Oh.

So that was it.

He bit back a moan. "Sorry."

"No," I said. "We'll tell him you fell."

"I just," Edward agreed, shivering. "fell."

I nodded. "You just fell."

We pivoted and I walked him to my room.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note (In the Third Person POV): The author officially loves all her reviews. All of them. And she's so glad her readers are enjoying the story so far because she's really been enjoying writing it. Thank you so much to all who bothered to comment, even just a little, and thank you to the ones who have done it repeatedly (you know who you are), even though the author doesn't say much back.

The author would just like to point out that even though Mustang and Hawkeye are really amazing and a great pair to write about, the author thinks it's really fun to write about Edward too. The author has fun putting them together in the same chapter. Actually, the author laughs at her own jokes when she goes back and reads them. The author is lame like that. But come on; the characters make themselves easy targets. Here, here!

Chapter Sixteen: For the Sake of the Gate, For the Sake of the Country

Edward sputtered, leaning forward over the toilet bowl like he might vomit again. But it passed after a few unsteady seconds and he leaned back against the door, letting his hand flop clumsily over the handle to flush away what had been the contents of his stomach; mostly bile. He bowed his sweaty face and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a careless sweep, panting. I rubbed his back, silent. It was easy to feel like I was mothering him again.

"It's over," he said breathlessly. "It's done."

Now that Edward's retching had stopped I could hear the rain dwindling to a light shower. He ran his hand up and down his stump and let his lids drop, the rims of his eyes still wet from the strain.

"Go check on Colonel Pyro-geek." He gave a wry smile, eyes remaining shut, sunken in. "I'm okay here."

I touched his cheek with the backs of my fingers, testing for a fever. After all the heaving he'd done it made sense that he might have elevated his own temperature. He jerked his face away.

"I'm okay," he said, his voice hoarse and uneven. "It's over."

"You still sore?"

"I'm okay."

He continued to rub his stump, giving a rhythm to it like he was on a swing, up and down like a loop.

"Edward," I said. "What did this to you?"

He frowned, eyes still closed. "Damn portal."

"You keep saying that," I said. "But I thought you'd paid your price. You more than paid it, as far as I'm concerned. And you gave up your door to the gate. You aren't even a part of that world anymore."

"Doesn't matter," Edward said softly. "Doesn't have anything to do with it. Just a side effect."

"Side effect?"

"To opening it." He swallowed. "To passing through."

"What do you mean?"

"It's a lot of stress," he said. "On your body. Passing through different dimensions. It takes its toll and I've done it too many times to count. You lose a bit of yourself every time, like it rubs off on your way in and your way out. It's not about equivalent exchange or alchemy in general. I just put my body through too much too many times. It has its weak points."

"Your leg."

"It was already the most vulnerable part of me," he said. "Granny tried to leave as much of my leg on as she could, but the damaged muscles and ligaments she worked to preserve stopped recovering as easily the more times I went through the Gate. Winry's been trying different designs in automail to utilize what I have left of my leg, but the storm-sickness has been so bad lately I'm beginning to wonder if it's even worth the fight. That's why I wanted to see her. We talked a while back about replacing my dock eventually. And if we took a little more off the end of my stump we might be able to cut away the damaged bits Granny left and there wouldn't be as many vulnerable spots for when the storms came." He smiled. "Of course, if I did that Winry would have to build me a new leg with entirely different specifications and she'd think that was a pain. But it's not like I want to go to anyone else. Damn. I'm getting a wrench to the face for this one."

"You mean start from scratch?" I said, horrified.

Edward opened his eyes, staring at the wall. "I can do it in a year. Maybe less. Easy."

"But the surgery and rehabilitation all over again?"

"Not my favorite choice," he said. "But I've got a great mechanic. I don't mind having an excuse to spend a full year with her in Risembool. Travel's overrated when you do it alone."

"It seems unfair."

"Yeah," he said with a chuckle. "Well, it could be worse. I mean, it may be a pain, but at least I can fix this one. It would've been bad if I'd started bleeding internally out of the organs I'd damaged when I got impaled in Baschool. I mean, I'm better, but scars are vulnerabilities. All of them. Places that never could heal completely to the way they were." I unconsciously found myself touching my throat. Edward didn't seem to notice. "Heck, I'm lucky my right arm hasn't fallen off my shoulder after being separated from my body for so long. A little temporary storm sickness and some auto-mail rehabilitation is nothing, now that I think about it."

"Since when were you impaled in Baschool?" I asked, my hand now finding its way down to my hip. "This is the first I've heard of it."

"Yeah, you and your posse of," he switched into a feminine falsetto, shifting his shoulders sexily to the words. "'Oh my God! We've got a bunch of kids fighting our wars for us. What is this world coming to? Let's go forth heroically and pretend we're the grown-ups in this situation.'" Edward shook his head, clearing his throat. "Yeah, sure, I was just itching to tell Mustang and his goons about my little accident. I mean, why wouldn't I be? I just knew I could always count on you dorks to be rational after hearing about an incident like that and not give me some stupid order about not dying or whatever. Seriously, if I died on duty would Mustang leave some kind of black demerit on my grave for disobeying orders?"

"I guess you're right about that," I admitted. "On duty or off. Doesn't make much difference to him."

He shrugged. "I never even explained what happened to Alphonse. Dummy probably would've started crying all over the place, blaming himself like he does. I have too many old scars for him to really notice when I get new ones. So freakin' sensitive. Can't tell anybody anything. You know I saved myself from bleeding to death by closing the wound using my own life force as a Philosopher's Stone? Wish Mustang could've seen that trick. It was pretty cool. He would've been like, 'But that's impossible!' What a loser."

"Glad you're perking up."

"Yeah, that's storm sickness," he said like it was a chore. "One minute I'm in total agony and the second the clouds part I'm back on my feet. Foot."

I smiled, patting his shoulder. "Do you want a glass of water?"

His eyes slugged sideways, staring at me with dry indifference. "Do I look like I want a glass of water?"

"No?"

"I just puked up three…no, two and a half glasses of water into your toilet; I dropped the third glass halfway after I knocked over the coffee table." He shut his eyes again. "Not interested in refilling the tank just yet."

I rolled my eyes, allowing myself the liberty to be immature for that moment. "I'll go check on Roy." I laughed to myself. "Never thought I'd be calling him 'Roy' someday. Maybe Fuhrer King Mustang, but 'Roy'?"

"What, you didn't see it coming?" Edward jabbed.

"Like you did?"

He grinned. "Yeah."

I stood, unable to tell if he was kidding or not.

I sighed. "He should be a Colonel. I should be calling him 'sir.'"

"Maybe he should be a Colonel," Edward said, still smiling. "But I think you do alright calling him 'Roy' for now."

I patted the crown of Edward's blonde head, smoothing back the silky strands that had broken free of his pony-tail during his fit of storm-sickness. The strands were fine like babies' hair. I took my hand off, worried he might give me a look for trying to coddle him. He did look up at me with slight irritation, but his gaze was mostly appreciative, his eyes softening like I was setting them to peace. I wondered what it would have been like to grow up with a mother. For a fraction of a second I had a painful desire to ask Edward to tell me about it.

I bit my lip, shaking it off. I was military. I was defected military. It made no difference either way. The word 'mother' would never mean much to me.

"Edward," I said, touching the doorknob and waiting for him to scoot out of my way. "About the Portal…"

"Yeah?"

"Could it happen to someone else?" I asked, trying my best to sound hypothetical and failing miserably. "I mean, if someone opened the Portal again. If he had to pass through the Gate for some reason. Maybe not for the taboo, but…"

"He's not going to," Edward said sternly. "There's no need. If he's dumb enough to open the Gate again at his own free will he deserves to get hurt. And tell him if that happens I'm going to kick his ass."

"Of course," I said, smiling half-heartedly. "But if it did happen, he really could get hurt? Like you. Even if it was only his second time?"

"No offense to your hypothetical person," he said with a chuckle. "But he studied Flame Alchemy. I spent the majority of my training focusing on Human Transmutation; that's my specialty, unfortunately. Mustang's way out of his league on this one. I mean, an expert did the work for him last time. He was forced through the portal without even trying to perform Human Transmutation; and he lost his sight completely out of both eyes. He lost one of his five senses, the only one necessary to his alchemy. That's kind of a hefty price for just passing through against his will. And he was in top shape back then. What do you think would happen if for some stupid reason he opened the Gate on his own after everything he's put his body through? He's a smart guy, but he doesn't know anything about the Truth, whether he has to use a circle anymore or not. Tell him he doesn't know what he's dealing with. Tell him he hasn't begun to understand equivalent exchange. And tell him he shouldn't want to. Tell him to keep out of the Portal. If something serious is going on that you haven't told me about then I trust you two to figure it out, but…"

"Nothing's going on," I said. "Just speculating. You can never know what's coming, what you need to be prepared for."

"If he tries anything with that portal," Edward said. "He's going to die."

"I see."

"Even if he waits until his wounds have healed, it's not worth the risk. Even if he makes it through alive, the Portal is a rough ride. I'm lucky it's just my stump that's been affected. Seriously. Humans aren't supposed to go through the portal even once. Going through twice is a big mistake. I may not have had the choice, but you keep him out of there, Hawkeye."

"The little girl you mentioned," I said distantly.

"What?"

"From your dream. You said there was a little girl bound to the Portal. She traded herself for unbeatable alchemic abilities."

"It was just a dream."

"Of course."

"There was nothing I could have done for her."

"I understand."

I twisted the knob, stepping out into my bedroom. Edward touched my ankle like a child getting his mother's attention by pulling at her skirt. His eyes were round, terrified.

"If you start messing with the Gate I promise that things will never go the way you mean them to."

"I know," I said. I shivered. "But I'm not the one who might have trouble understanding that when it comes to it."

"If he tries anything," Edward said, watching me leave. "Shoot his kneecaps. Give him something to think about. Being crippled is better than being dead."

I smiled. "A little graphic."

"A little effective."

"I'll remember."

Having already thoroughly freaked poor Edward out for no particular end, I moved on to the real baby of the group. He was on the edge of sleep when I entered, looking more peaceful now than the previous morning by far. He turned under his covers and I rejoiced that he had the strength to move. I stepped in and his eyes flicked open.

"What's going on," Roy said, his voice barely reaching above a whisper. "You disappeared."

I smiled reassuringly. "Edward fell. I helped him to my room. I thought he'd be more comfortable there."

Roy knit his brow. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine," I said. "Just a little sore from running around last night; helping me take care of you. I haven't been using my bed so far. I thought it would be unfair to make him stay on the couch with a bed free."

"Got it."

I thanked God Roy was still dazed in weariness. Any other day and he would've caught on in a second that I wasn't telling him everything.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Like shit," he said, writhing. "You?"

"You're giving me a headache."

A crooked grin quivered on his mouth. "I've done worse."

"Not much worse, sir." I cleared my throat. "Roy."

"Guess you're right," he said, ignoring my slip-up. "But you haven't shot me yet, so that's a good sign."

"Someone else got to you first."

"Ah, right. So that's it."

Out of the stillness there was a sudden piercing ring from the telephone. I hadn't even realized our rooms had come with a telephone, but the ring was unmistakable. It was coming from the other side of the door. I stepped away from the Colonel.

"Don't," he said. "Riza, don't answer it."

"It's probably just the front desk checking to see if we want the room for another night." Another screeching ring. "If we don't pick up they'll come up here and throw us out. We don't need that kind of attention."

"We already paid enough for a week," he argued. "Don't answer it."

Another ring.

Another ring.

"It's going to seem suspicious," I said, eyeing the door, eyeing the doorknob.

"Don't do it," Roy said sternly.

The ringing stopped. My shoulders sank and Roy sank into the mattress, relieved.

"Hey," Edward called hoarsely from the sitting room. "There's an old lady on the phone for a Mr. James Brown. She sounds like a real piece of work, too. Almost like a man."

I looked at Roy. "Madame Christmas?"

Roy ran his hand over his face, his stubble from the past two days scratching through the silence like steel wool. "Tell her to hold on a minute," he said sorrowfully. "I need to get to the phone."

I could hear Edward muttering into the phone, speaking to our caller with far more respect than he spoke with to almost anyone else. He called her ma'am. He was pretty polite considering he'd just called her a piece of work. I supposed he'd had plenty of experience dealing with elderly women after living off and on with Pinako Rockbell for so many years. He knew to stay cautious.

Roy cried out as I leaned him upright. "Dammit, Hawkeye! What have you done to me?"

"I saved your life," I said, nudging him off the bed to plunk him down into the confines of the wheelchair. "The rest you did to yourself."

"This hurts like hell, you know?"

"I believe it."

"You could be a little more gentle."

"Why don't I just leave it to you?" I pushed him across the room and out the door into the sitting room.

Edward sat on the couch, his full leg crossing then uncrossing from his half one excitedly. "…Yes, ma'am…Yeah, that's right…No, not at all. Jim's just an old golfing buddy from Graduate School…Well, actually, I knew his wife Elisabeth before they were even—…No, before that. I knew her before they even started dating…No, ma'am. She wasn't really my type…Well, I'm more into the feisty ones…Yeah…No kidding!...You mean you actually—…That's great!…Well, thanks. I appreciate that…Oh, wait…Oh, here he is…He's right in front of me…Yeah, took him long enough…I know, right?...Well, you take care, ma'am…Nice talking to you too…Yeah, you too…Aright, goodbye—"

Edward nearly fell of the couch with the force Roy used when he yanked the phone out of Ed's hand. I chuckled. Edward certainly did get into character. He seemed to have been enjoying the conversation with Roy's old Foster Mother. I wondered if he'd just been bored.

"…Grumman? Is that..." Roy's bloodshot eyes widened, his face draining paler than it already was, something that shouldn't have been possible. "Is that you, sir?"

Silent.

Motionless.

All three of us.

The phone shook in Roy's hand and I knelt beside him to steady it in his grasp so he wouldn't drop it by accident. I desperately wanted to lean closer to listen in with him.

"…Sir, I…No…I meant ma'am…I'm sorry, ma'am…No, I meant no offense…I just…You what?"

He was trembling all over now. He was too weak to be panicking like this. I rested a hand on the top of his head soothingly, fighting the urge to speak up and tell him it would be alright.

"…I see…That's good..."

His expression changed to that of deep anxious devastation. He crumpled into himself. I caught the phone as it slipped from his fingers and held it to his ear.

"...Thank you…Yes, ma'am, I understand…I understand perfectly…"

His voice broke slightly but he recovered it, disguising it with a cough.

"Thank you, ma'am…It was nothing…I'm sorry, I have to…" He took a breath "No. I have to decline…I know…I'm sorry…No, I'm alright…No, it was my own damn fault…I understand…And the others? The ones involved...Yes, perfect…Thank you…Any time, ma'am…Yes, thank you…You too…Thanks for telling me…Goodbye."

I hung up for him and set the phone down beside the couch. He was silent for a while, staring forward at nothing in particular, his eyes glazed over, greying like fog. Edward was staring at him from the edge of the couch. I could tell he was desperate to know what had transpired. So was I.

But the Colonel was so fazed it made me want to smack Edward for being curious about it.

"Would you like a glass of water, Roy," I said, touching his hand.

"That was the Fuhrer," he said softly, his words weak on his lips.

"Aw, he's so much cooler as an old lady!" Edward stiffened. "How'd he find us?"

"Central got a tip from a military officer checking passports," Roy said, not meeting either of our gazes. "Apparently someone sighted the Fullmetal Alchemist getting off the train with a certain old golfing buddy at Packhorse Station."

"They recognized him," I said, glancing at Edward apologetically. "I suppose they really have been keeping tabs on you, Ed."

"Tell me something I don't know," Edward chuckled bitterly. "Damn. And I led them straight to you."

"Grumman figured out the rest," Roy said. "He thanked me for taking the heat on screwing up Drachma's attempt to barter Flame Alchemy to Amnestris. The gunshot wound I gave him was superficial after all; in his thigh, enough to be believable. I think he honestly believes I aimed to put it there."

"So," I said, shifting to kneel in front of him. "The Fuhrer understands. He'll pardon you. It's over. I can take you to a real hospital with real doctors and you won't get executed for treason."

Roy shook his head slowly, saying sorry with his eyes. "As it turns out," he said with a bleak half-smile. "I'm going to be a sacrificial lamb on this one. Grumman knows the truth about what happened, but no one else will."

Edward leaned off his seat, his face red like freshly washed radishes. "What?"

"He offered to grant me immunity," Roy said. "He can't disclose anything about the secret meeting, but he thinks he can clear me. I couldn't be military, obviously. But still."

"You could still go to the hospital," I said excitedly. "Screw the military!"

He shook his head. "I turned him down."

I looked up at him, checking to see that he was serious. I glanced out of my peripheral vision and saw that Edward was doing the same thing. Edward leaned back, glaring at the Colonel, his old frown lines sinking deep at his brow and mouth.

"So that's how it is," he said coldly. "Grumman gave you the choice. Save your skin or save Amnestris. He wasn't giving you anything. The jerk knew full well you'd choose your country over your own wellbeing."

"If I go back, the Drachma government will have no choice but to see Grumman as a terrorist-sympathizer. I mean, I shot him. If that doesn't look like a conspiracy then I don't know what does. Amnestris will be labeled an enemy." He looked at me like I was the one who'd ranted at him. "I killed people…I lost people because I wanted to bring peace to Amnestris. I'm not going to undo all of that for my personal gain."

I shook my head frantically. "You could see a doctor."

"I'm alright," he said, touching his stomach over the areas he'd been shot. "You took good care of me. But you can go now. Both of you. Keeping your names clear won't be hard. Grumman just has to give the word. He already told me he would."

I blinked. "What?"

"With me as the focus of Drachma's hostility and clearly not on Grumman or Amnestris's side, the pacts between our countries are stronger than ever. They'll think they're fighting for each other. After all the hell we've been through with Drachma, all the hell that was just waiting for an excuse to be unleashed, having a common enemy couldn't have come at a better time." He smiled deviously. "And now that I've defected, I'm free to dig around about their research on Flame Alchemy without any limitations; maybe put a stop to it. Amnestris will be safe, Drachma will be appeased, and I'll be free. You got me this far. Grumman will make sure the military doesn't get close enough to apprehend me, so I'll be safe. You two should go home while you still can. Who knows when we'll get to the 'no turning back' point?"

"Colonel!" I yelled, standing. "Are you a complete idiot? Since when has 'no turning back' registered with me? Look at you. How far do you think you'll get like this without help? If you rip through your stitches again do you know how to sew yourself back up? You could barely take the pain half-conscious when you had me doing it for you. And if you had a fever you'd probably pass out from dehydration before you were able to make it to the kitchen for a glass of water."

"I can manage."

"No you can't."

"Alright," he huffed. "I can't."

"I'm not going to let you die because I miss my apartment," I said. I smiled gently. "And it's not like I have anything better to do."

"I do," Edward said, looking up to meet our eyes. "Actually, I do have better things to do."


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note (In First Person POV): I'm so tempted to write down spoilers up here. But I won't. What I will say is, you know what sucks? My family loves reading my stuff. I want to show this fanfic off to them but we're that kind of people who are supposed to think anime is stupid. Well, they're that kind of people. They think I am. Whatever. Writing is writing, no matter what it's based on, right? Right.

Chapter Seventeen: Roy gets dumped by Ed, but fugitives don't have rebounds

I leaned back on the couch, bringing another of Edward's wrinkled shirts onto my lap to fold it into his suitcase along with the rest. He'd told me I didn't need to do it, but I had to do something. Roy certainly wasn't doing anything. I told Edward to rest. He'd be home by the evening.

"Thanks," Edward said, leaning on his armrest. "For babying me. I think you probably ended up helping me more than I helped you."

"Never thought I'd hear you thank anyone for babying you," I chuckled.

"Yeah," he agreed. "The word 'baby' doesn't seem quite so toxic once you break five-five."

I laid the shirt on top of the other ones and moved on to a pair of trousers; the left leg was still in a knot partway down where Edward had tied it off at his stump.

"But I'm being honest," he said. "It wouldn't have been fun for me to spend my first morning in Risembool vomiting in Granny's toilet. I think Winry would probably have been a little freaked out. Thanks for taking care of me. I mean it."

I nodded, shaking out the trousers until they untwisted. "I was glad to have you. I don't know about Roy, but I needed to know we weren't alone. No matter how helpful you think you were, you gave me what I needed."

His shoulders dropped and he groaned in frustration. "I don't want to leave you guys like this."

"I know."

"But, Lieutenant, I'm a red flag."

"I know, Ed."

"I'm not just going to put you in danger. I'm going to be lumped in, which isn't so bad, but when I get involved in stuff, someone always gets hurt because of me. I can't put Winry at risk all over again. I swore she'd never be a hostage again, you know? I don't want a bunch of creeps from Drachma kidnapping her to use as leverage against me."

"No one wants that, Edward," I said. "It's okay."

"But it makes me nervous leaving you like this. I know you two can handle anything; I mean that's kind of a thing with you guys. But it's not going to be easy."

"I know where to find you if it gets to be too much," I said.

"Yeah, sure you do," he sulked. "But it's not like you'll actually call when it comes to that."

"I guess we wouldn't, huh?"

"Just don't give up on each other," Edward said, suddenly serious, his eyes grave. "Isn't that one of his things? He never gives up on anyone? Whatever. I just don't want to find out someday that you two put up your hands and let yourselves get killed because it wasn't worth the fight. Be careful. Not a fan of death."

I nodded, craning my neck to peek through the crack in the Colonel's door. He was still sleeping. Shortly after Edward told us of his impending departure the Colonel became unspeakably tired and said a quick goodbye to Edward on his way through the door in case he slept through Edward's final farewell.

"He's pouting," I laughed. "Ridiculous. He's pouting because he thinks you're ditching us."

"I am ditching you."

"You never agreed to be a part of anything. You were just giving me a hand for the night. And now he's getting sensitive over you leaving. I don't believe this. He just about yelled at me for taking you on. Oh, he can be such a woman sometimes."

Edward laughed. "Poetry."

"Thanks."

Edward left before lunch. We didn't have any food around and he figured he could just get something at the station before he passed out from hunger, or so he put it. I waved and watched him hobble down the stairs to the lobby like I was a woman seeing a soldier off to war with my handkerchief.

Tears wet my eyes and I blinked them back. It really was like waving off a soldier. The way things were going for me, there was a steady chance that this was the last time I'd see him. Of course, in its own way, he would be the one standing at the door as he was read off the yellow telegram with the bad news; and I'd be the nameless remains of the soldier they'd say was missing in action. I'd disappear from the world and no one would ever know where or when or if I was even dead at all.

I shut the door behind me, pacing slowly to the disheveled couch and fixing the cushions to their proper positions. I found myself a little depressed, not as a result of Edward's departure, but more as a result of his absence. I was feeling down the same way I had before Edward had gotten onto the train with us, like Edward coming and giving me a little hope had never even happened. I told myself that Roy would wake up soon and I wouldn't be alone for long.

I hated to be alone. I actually was brilliant at being alone; well-practiced, so people just assumed I enjoyed being alone and often left me secluded, saying to themselves I just liked my peace. I needed to think. I needed space. I was an independent woman. But just because you're good at something doesn't mean you enjoy it.

I grew up alone. My mother died from weak health before I could even remember her voice and my father, though devoted to me, was often locked away in his study obsessing over his research. He did try, but the only language he spoke was alchemy and, funny enough, he preferred that I stay away from the science for my own safety as a delicate little lady. I grew up with a father to keep me safe and to provide for me; that was how Daddy showed me love. But I was alone. I learned how to live life, to pick up my own pieces, alone.

Daddy got on well with Roy. Roy was smart and intuitive. He had values, strikingly insightful values, and what's better, Roy was poor and parentless; a somewhat empty cup who decided for himself on what to fill his cup with.

I got on with Roy too. Roy could speak about more than just alchemy. He could interpret for me, tell me what my father was saying without me having to spend countless nights pining over it. With Roy, neither my father nor I were alone.

When my father asked, as a last request, to have the final key to his research put into the flesh of my back, I agreed to it without even thinking about it. He told me I was the only person he could trust to protect it, which put me above Roy Mustang. So I knew I would be the only person Roy could go to for it. The information tattooed into my skin would bind me and Roy. When my father died, I would still have someone.

Even after my father advised me to keep his research to myself, warned me not to allow Roy to complete his journey to becoming a flame alchemist, I shamefully knew I was lying through my teeth when I agreed. But my father had to understand, with him gone, I really would have been alone. I needed a reason for Roy to come back.

So I made him into the Flame Alchemist. I made him into the dog of the military, the dog who would wipe out entire sections of Ishbal day by day until there would be no sections left to wipe out.

And I was never alone.

I had no regrets.

The extermination in Ishbal was spurred by a conspiracy, not by alchemy. Flame alchemy was a mere tool in it; as hard as it was to admit that to my guilty conscience, I knew that was true. And Roy Mustang had utilized what I'd given him to try to heal what had gone on in that civil war almost as soon as it was over.

I knew I could not have trusted a man with more passion or control.

I'm sorry, Daddy, but you were wrong. Your research is a burden that only Roy Mustang can carry with any success. Even if he does need a little guidance here and there along the way.

I stood, taking my own advice and going into the kitchenette to chug down a couple glasses of water. There was something comforting about it for me, me personally. Maybe it was that time I spent in Ishbal where our water had to be rationed to one canteen every twelve hours some days. So things could get bad sometimes, but at least now I had clean water. By the glass.

I set my empty glass on the counter beside the sink, letting my hand linger on it for a few seconds before slowly drawing it away. I stared at the dark green tile lining the countertop, listening to the calm drip of dewy droplets falling in a gentle rhythm from the nose of the tap.

I felt the wetness welling up in my eyes.

Not again, I told myself.

And droplets fell in a gentle rhythm from the ducts of my eyes.

I blinked them back, but they just trickled down and formed again, sticking to my lashes and flicking down my face in delicate streams. I didn't sob or shake or even sniffle. I just stood there, staring at the grout in the dark green tile that lined the countertop.

"I'm happy," I whispered to no one, not even myself. "But he's not."

I rested my hands on the edge of the counter, the smooth surface cool against my fingertips. I tapped the counter with one fingernail after the other then tapped again. The tears continued in their constant way and soon I didn't even notice them. It was like I wasn't even crying. My eyes were leaking. That was all. I didn't even care.

"Hawkeye…" Roy's voice was so faint that I probably wouldn't have heard him if I hadn't been standing perfectly still. "Hawkeye…"

I pushed away from the counter and came to his room in hurried strides. I passed through the door and walked to the foot of his bed. Tears dropped off my jaw and down onto my chest without me giving it a second thought.

"Roy?"

"You were right," he said, his eyes shut tight, crinkled. "I do feel sick. Close the curtain."

The light from the afternoon sun had come straight through the gaps of the curtained window and was shining directly on his face. The brightness was overwhelming, even for me. After all he'd been through it only made sense that he'd be photosensitive.

I pulled the curtains together until the room was back to its dim greyness. I could hear Roy's groan of relief as the bright rays vanished off his face.

I turned to him. "Better?"

He nodded, his eyes peeling open cautiously. "Thanks."

He froze his gaze, his black eyes focused, fixed on me. His jaw slackened, his mouth hanging slightly ajar. I furrowed my brow.

"Did you remember something?" I asked.

He just stared, unwavering. I stared back, wondering if there was something I was missing, something I was supposed to have figured out. I came to stand beside him and his gaze followed me. I bit my lip as I finally noticed the silvery droplets collecting at the bottom rims of his eyes. Roy was going to cry.

I gasped, touching my cheek and frantically pushing away the moisture. I blinked and more tears came down just like I knew they would. I wiped those away too.

"Sorry," I said, my face growing hot and flushed. "I forgot…"

Well, that sounded stupid.

Roy didn't smile at my awkward apology. Instead his expression pinched and fell. I watched in horror as his eyes nearly brimmed.

"You," he said wretchedly. "Forgot you were crying?"

"Because it's silly," I said, desperate to fix whatever it was I'd broken.

"How?" he asked. "How can it be silly?"

I sat down on the edge of the bed, buying myself time. I didn't know how to answer him without sounding stupid. I had every reason to cry. We both did.

Roy had his eyes on me still. "You know, I'm not exactly a social butterfly, but I did enjoy having friends."

"We'll make new ones."

"No," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm a fugitive. I don't make friends. I make enemies."

"I'm not your enemy," I said.

"You're not exactly my friend, either," he said mournfully.

Suddenly the tears hurt as they dripped and stung my eyes. I looked at my feet, scrunching my toes on the wooden floor.

"I didn't mean it like that," Roy said quickly.

"I know," I replied.

"I was talking about Breda and Fuery and Falman, Havoc…"

"I know," I said. "You'll miss the guys."

It still hurt to hear him say it, though.

I was happy but he wasn't. Why was that?

"All that time I spent getting my name out there," Roy said. "And now I'm trying to erase it off the face of the planet. Damn."

"Hey," I said, patting his arm. "Remember when I used to wear dresses? The pink ones with the high-heels?"

He met my eyes, a half-hearted smile quivering on his lips. "When you were still in high school."

Something in his voice when he said it made me blush. "Almost all of my friends were girls back then."

"Your dad threatened to register all the guys as sex offenders if they came near you," Roy chuckled.

I smiled. "Something like that."

"He let me in the house, though."

"You were more into college girls."

Roy grinned mischievously. "He seemed to think so."

I folded my hands on my laps and squeezed them tight together. "Well, after my grandmother passed away, besides you and my dad, the only people I could feel close to were my friends from school. It was hard being in the military, being surrounded by soldiers eight days out of the week; the only other women there had given up their pink dresses and high-heeled shoes a long time ago." I sighed. "More or less, I can kind of relate to what you're talking about, about giving up your old drinking buddies, I mean. You feel like you're giving up the better part of yourself, but really all you're doing is finding a new one. After ten years I still miss my pink and my frills sometimes and I still miss having giggly conversations with the girls, but what's funny is I actually learned to like this better."

Roy laughed. "This? You like this better?"

I nodded. "Yes, this."

Roy stopped laughing.

I smiled softly, almost to myself like an inside joke. "You may not be what I would have expected for an ideal friend, but even so, the best things in life are the ones we don't plan out for ourselves. I'm sorry you're not happy with the way things have turned out. I really am sorry. But I promise I'm alright. I'm not unhappy. I wasn't crying for me. I think I was crying for you."

Roy shook his head. I wasn't sure either of us knew what he was opposed to. He just couldn't do much else.

"I know you're worried about a lot of things," I said. "But you don't have to worry about me anymore. I'm alright now. You're alive so I'm alright. Just sleep. I can handle the rest for now."

I stood, smiling, tears still dripping off my face like the dripping from the tap. Roy looked up at me, his eyes wet and pleading.

"Please," I said. "I'm alright. Please, try to get better."

I turned toward the door. Suddenly his hand was hooked onto my sleeve, pulling my arm until it was close enough for him to grab my wrist completely. I looked back at him, stunned.

"Do you need a glass of water?" I asked.

"Don't go," he said, hesitating like the words were necessary but very hard to get out.

I turned back to him, putting my free hand over his grip on my wrist and holding it there. I sat down beside him again. He let go of me. He was looking to the side like he might have been ashamed of himself.

"I'll stay," I said.

He sighed a long breath of relief, his eyes closing and his face relaxing. I touched his hand.

"It was scary, wasn't it?" I asked. "Thinking you were going to die."

"Only when you left," he answered. "When I was alone."

"I'll stay."

He smiled cheekily. "Watching you watching me, seeing you as you were, seeing you strong. You were the one who had always protected me. I was ready."

My eyes widened. "Roy…"

"Death was something I'd always thought would be frightening," he said. "But it was easy. Knowing you would still be there to grieve for me made it so much easier."

I wrinkled my brow. "Did you just steal my speech?"

Roy grinned, opening his eyes like little slits. "It was a hell of a speech."

"I can't believe you actually remembered it," I said, secretly flattered. "Now, sleep. I'll make you some dry toast when you wake up and we'll see if you can get it down."

He nodded and closed his eyes again, rolling onto one side so he was facing the window away from me. Soon he was breathing deep and his shoulders were rising and falling with his snores. It was good to hear him snore. It was good to know he had the strength to snore. I observed the back of his head where fever-sweat had stiffened his jet-black mop to look like the tail of a rooster. I laughed into my hand.

"Yes," I said in an almost whisper. "Knowing you're here does make it easier."


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: So…all my covers I've used so far for BBG I made myself from the comfort of my giant bed. Not exactly masterpieces, but I'm still bragging.

Oh, wait, by the way; I've noticed a lot of people have been getting irritated with Roy in the reviews. That's good, because he's being a jerk and I'm aiming to make him seem difficult. But, I guess I personally have been okay with his behavior because I'm writing it so I know what's going through his head. You're just reading Riza's perspective so you only see what she sees. I promise he doesn't stay a jerk—I mean, he's not even being a jerk right now if you get inside his mind—but he does have ups and downs. I just don't want anyone getting exhausted reading about him. It's a fine line, y'know?

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Clover Valley

Roy held the door open for me.

"After you, Mrs. Brown," he said with a reverent grin.

"Why, thank you, James," I replied, a little caught off guard.

It had been just over four weeks since we'd left Central to start fresh as enemies to the State and Roy was finally gaining back his self-sufficiency. We'd left Packhorse Village soon after Edward had ditched us and had spent the last month lying low in a secluded town called Clover Valley, planning to stay there while Roy recovered.

We'd purchased a vacant, one-bedroom cottage for the two of us; they said vacant but it looked more like it had been abandoned and we only bought the place because the people selling it to us didn't know what a lease was.

But Clover Valley was the perfect location to hide at. The entire town was centered in fields of wildflowers. The nearest train station was a three hour trip by foot; Roy and I had taken the town's coach over upon our arrival. The people were mostly farmers who went into the more urban regions once every year after harvest to make some trades, and that was it. It was beautiful, quiet, peaceful; I understood why no one would be interested in getting out more.

Unfortunately, Clover Valley was so far out that there wasn't even a regular newspaper. In order to get any updates on the world around you, you had to have a mailing address and subscribe to newsletters and magazines that would be delivered only once every weekend. Roy and I were in hiding and couldn't establish a mailing address of our own, though Roy desperately scrutinized over a way around that fact.

Finally, one morning four days into our stay when I was down at the town center to buy some eggs, I happened upon a little boy named Howard, maybe ten years old, with a current paper in his lap. After engaging him in conversation for a while, I soon learned that he was the one person in the entire town who had the desire to stay knowledgeable about the outside world. I was ecstatic that there was even one. He spent his pocket money on gum and papers, so he said. He had all seven of the daily stacks for the entire week rolled up together and sent to his door every Sunday morning.

For twenty-five cens a piece, Roy and I mooched off little Howard's newspapers, receiving them one by one, secondhand, starting from Sunday afternoons after he'd read it first. Roy couldn't have been more appreciative. I started out reading them to him while he rested when he was still in bad shape, but after a little over a week Roy was able to sit up and read them on his own; I ended up getting stuck reading the papers third-hand. He tipped Howard another twenty-five cens if Howard read and passed on the papers faster. It was kind of cute.

And that was why Roy was holding the door open for me. It was a Tuesday morning and we'd just been to Howard's to pick up last Friday's and last Saturday's posts. Roy hadn't even read past the headlines yet, but getting the newspaper was the highlight of his day and it always set him in a good mood. He'd gotten so excited that he'd even told me to take a break from pushing his chair and wheeled himself the last two minutes of the way home.

Really, he'd been on his feet around the house for the past week, but lying in bed as long as he had and eating so little had left him weak and he couldn't make it through long walks around town without having to sit down every twelve steps. Being able to wheel his own chair was more just a pride thing for him.

Having him hold the door for me was an absolute breakthrough as far as I was concerned. Being marked an enemy to Amnestris and Drachma in just one phone call had left Roy in a bad place for some time. He'd try to act like he was as okay with it as I was, but he sucked at acting, at least around me. He'd been clingy too; clingy for him, that is. Normally Roy was always so introverted. He was a good person to be around and he made friends easily, but he had always preferred long breaks between companies. People just seemed to exhaust him.

He didn't say it all of the time, but he made it clear enough now that he didn't like to be left alone for too long and it freaked him out to wake up and me not be there. I wound up playing nurse more than I'd thought I'd have to. I wasn't just supplying bandages and disinfectant; I found myself making broth out of bullion and warning Roy every time I had to go out for a while and giving him a precise estimate of when I'd be back.

I probably should have been a little annoyed. His clinginess reverted to near-bossiness at the drop of a hat if I made a wrong move. But more I was just bothered, afraid for him. He wasn't the type to gush to me about what was going on in his head, but I knew Roy enough to be sure it was worse than he let on. His whole world, everything he'd ever put himself into, everything he'd touched through the course of his life, had been stripped away from him. I couldn't imagine a better excuse for him to feel lost.

But this morning he had woken up smiling.

I stepped through the door, going to the kitchen and setting the papers on the table. He wheeled in, shutting the door behind him and leaving his chair by the welcome mat. He hobbled slowly to the table and sat down heavily in one of our two wicker chairs.

I watched him unroll the Friday post, his eyes eager and sparkling. He was still pale from being inside all of that time, but the color had come back into his face since the blood loss had drained it. Besides being a little gaunt, he was looking strong, healthy; of course, by then my standards for healthiness had dropped considerably.

But he'd meant it when he'd said he was a quick healer. He was lucky enough to have dodged the spray of bullets at an angle to where they had only managed to penetrate through his muscle and not into his actual abdominal cavity where they would've damaged his internal organs. He wouldn't have even made it to my apartment otherwise. Blood loss had been his major issue and once I'd gotten that controlled, all he really needed was to fight against the possibility of infection and regain his strength from there.

I'd told him he was lucky to be alive every time I changed his bandages or soothed a fever. In pain, he usually replied that he had his doubts. He'd been relatively oblivious to just what exactly had happened to him, leaving me to do the dirty work that he obviously couldn't. I was sure he couldn't have realized just how lucky he was. It was almost funny.

"Roy," I said, hanging his coat up for him. "I have to go out. We're out of eggs."

Roy rolled his eyes. "Do you know how to make anything besides breakfast?"

"It's the most important meal of the day."

"Yeah, well, you make it three meals a day is the problem." He kept his eyes on the paper. "Get meat."

"Feeling anemic?"

"I'm always anemic," he replied.

"Alright."

He was surprisingly calm for me going out. Usually he tensed up and asked me when I'd be back, demanding an exact time.

"Do you need a shave before I go?"

He got tactile about his stubble when he let it grow for more than a couple of days.

He shook his head. "I can do it."

I frowned. "I'm not sure I want you using a sharp object on your jaw while I'm out of the house."

"Yeah," he said, turning to the sports section. "Sure, Mom."

I couldn't keep from smiling. "I'm glad to see you so steady, Roy."

He smirked. "I've got a good doctor."

His cordial attitude was almost disturbing.

I made it to the market just an hour before it was supposed to close at noon. I'd naïvely believed at the beginning of our stay in Clover Valley that an hour was more than enough time. But Roy wanted meat today. The lines for the butchers and the lines for the fresh produce were very different stories.

Everyone in town had their favorite vendors. Honestly, I did too; the old couple with their five-year-old granddaughter who handled the meat-cleaver. But with only an hour to pick up all my groceries, I chose the fastest moving line.

"Good morning, Elisabeth," Mrs. Benton chided from behind.

"Good morning, Mrs. Benton," I replied, planting myself firm in my place to avoid an inconspicuous line-jump. "How is Mr. Benton getting on?"

I did my best to begin all our conversations that way, bringing up her husband and therefore bringing up the fact that she had a husband. It was a widely known fact around Clover that Mrs. Benton considered herself loosely bound to her marriage contract with her husband, to say the least. Roy and I had had the misfortune of figuring that out first hand when she came over one afternoon to drop off a casserole to her new neighbors and stepped inside for some tea. Roy was still confined to a wheelchair back then and she made it quite clear that she would do anything to make him comfortable. Even sick as a dog, Roy still managed to catch her eye.

And I'd suffered for it ever since.

"Oh," Benton said apathetically. "He's digging the garden, as usual."

"That's nice," I said.

"Isn't it?" She didn't bother to pretend she'd meant it. "And Jim?" she asked, stepping beside me.

I moved up in line a little bit. "Mr. Brown is doing well."

"Feeling better?"

"Yes."

She grinned, her orange-tinted lipstick shimmering against the winter sun. I had to admit, for a forty-year-old cheating slut, she wasn't all that unattractive. I felt a twinge of something unpleasant stir in my insides and I caught myself flushing. I frowned. Being jealous of Mrs. Benton was humiliating to say the least.

"When he's able," she said. "I insist you both come to my home for teatime. I owe you a cuppa."

"You baked us a casserole."

And it was nasty. Roy came close to vomiting. I sat up with him until two in the morning with a bucket ready.

I stepped up to the counter before she could insist again.

"Morning, Elisabeth," Camilla, the butcher's second daughter greeted. "Haven't seen you here in a while."

Because your prices are ridiculous.

"I'd like a chuck-roast," I said.

"Small?"

"It's just us two."

She called back to her papa for my order. Camilla had been slightly awkward when I'd first come to Clover, but a lot changes in a month when you're young. She'd filled out somewhat and grown into her face. And her elder sister had given her some of her old dresses and taught Camilla how to wear her hair. If Camilla hadn't been so young, I might have been jealous of her, too.

"So," Camilla said with a stark smile. "How's James?"

Did every woman in Clover Valley really think it was alright to call my husband by his first name to my face?

"Mr. Benton," I said. "Is feeling better."

"How lovely!" Camilla said. "He's eating better?"

Why was every woman here fixed on feeding my husband? Did they think I was incapable of doing the job on my own?

I sighed and used her teen-hormones to take advantage of the situation, knowing it would make me feel better. "He was the one who asked for meat this morning."

"Did he?" she asked. She actually seemed flattered.

"I thought I'd come here for it," I said. "He's been fighting so hard to gain back his strength. I thought he deserved some quality."

Camilla's eyes practically melted out of their sockets and I could hear Mrs. Benton saying to the woman behind her, "Bless his heart."

"Hold on," Camilla said, stepping back. "I think we may have some sirloin held back from the morning crowd."

I placed my hand on my mouth just so and put on my embarrassed vixen face. "I'm not sure we can afford that." And then I released final blow. "With James out of work all month…"

"It's on the house," Camilla said, setting the paper-wrapped prime-cut onto the counter in front of me.

I smiled like an idiot. "Oh, bless you. You can't imagine what this means to my Jimmy."

"No," Camilla said like a saint. "Tell him to get well quickly so he can visit our stall in person next time."

There was that disgusting feeling again, adrenaline and boric acid flooding my veins at the same time. It made sense, all these women stuck with the same men from the time they were born until the time they died. Having the arrival of a mysterious man with piercing black eyes was enough to spark any woman's interest.

But really; to my face?

You'd think country-girls would have a little more class.

I forced a smile, setting the beef in my basket and moving on to the next stall to hear the next young lady inquire about James, Jim, Jimmy, or anything else besides Mr. Brown.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: Ha! One of my regular readers is never going to think of their Chem teacher the same way again. I feel empowered.

I love Riza's character in FMA(B). She doesn't get extravagant screen time, but every time she enters a scene she just brings this hidden complexity. You can tell she has a lot more on her mind than she says out loud. And I love how she looks after Roy 24/7 but she's completely vulnerable without him as well. She's way fun to write.

Chapter Nineteen: Anything but Pancakes

Roy was out cold on the couch when I got back from the market. He had the Saturday post unfolded over his stomach like a blanket and his mouth hung ajar, snoring. His feet were hanging well over the armrest and his arm was dangling off the couch with his hand dragging on the carpeted floor.

I watched his chest rise and fall with every deep, tired breath and felt terrible for having to rouse him.

I set the groceries on the kitchen counter and came to kneel beside Roy, jiggling his shoulder. He groaned in protest.

"No," was all he bothered to say.

"You're on my bed," I chuckled.

"I'll trade."

I stopped jiggling him and brushed his hair away from his face. Forget about my runaway bangs; Roy needed a haircut something fierce.

"You'll stay weak," I said. "If you keep sleeping your days away like this you'll only get weaker."

He growled in frustration, leaning on me for a split second to gain momentum to pull himself up.

"I'm awake," he said, breaking into a yawn. "Let's have dinner."

I looked back to the kitchen where I'd put my groceries, the noon sun bouncing warmly off my face. "We haven't had lunch yet."

"I think we should have dinner first."

"You want the meat, huh?"

He smiled. "So you bought it?"

"It was a gift," I replied, suddenly stiff. "You're popular at the butcher. James is, at least."

"What butcher?" Roy asked. "I haven't been to any butcher."

"No," I said. "But the butcher's daughter knows who you are."

Roy smirked like a schoolboy who'd put a frog in his teacher's desk. "So that's it."

I rolled my eyes.

"What's she like?" Roy asked. "The butcher's daughter."

"She's sixteen years old."

Roy sank back into the couch. "Damn."

"You're married," I said sharply. "Mr. Brown."

"I was just curious."

Roy sat at the table doing crosswords while I got ready to make dinner. I gave him a bowl of grapes to tide him over until it was done. He hadn't had much in the ways of breakfast earlier that morning.

"You don't have to do that," he said, popping a couple in his mouth. "Feed me like I'm your pet, I mean. I can get snacks on my own if I get hungry."

"Oh," I said. "Sorry."

"No," said Roy. "I appreciate it. But you've been acting like a housewife and I feel bad that you've had to resort to that."

He said it like being a housewife was degrading.

I shrugged. "I don't have anything better to do."

Roy became somber. "I won't always be like this. I'm going to get better."

"You're already getting better, sir. Don't worry about things that aren't under your control, alright?"

Roy snickered. "You just called me 'sir' again."

My cheeks burned. "Did I really?"

"Yeah," he laughed. "At ease, soldier."

I shoved his arm, fighting a smile.

"Blueberry or oats and apple?" I asked.

"What, pancakes?"

I nodded. "What else?"

"But we're having meat."

"I'm going to dice it in with the eggs, maybe an omelet."

Roy shook his head, horrified. "No, not this time, Riza. That's my meat. It was a gift to me, right? Don't you dare make it into an omelet."

"Would you rather a frittata?" I asked.

"Absolutely not!" he fumed. "I want dinner, understand? Not canned beets, not chicken broth with dry toast, not Mrs. Benton's casserole, and under no circumstances do I want breakfast. Come on. Even Breda knows how to make a sandwich."

"Breda's mom was an excellent cook, according to him" I said in a huff. "I don't have a mom. And I didn't pick anything up for sandwiches."

"Do you know how make soup?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure."

"Not out of a can."

"Yeah, I can make it."

"Or bullion?"

I blushed. "Well I can't make it from scratch, if that's the issue."

"Do you want me to do it?" he asked, pushing himself up by the table to stand.

"You?"

"Don't look so surprised," he said. "I've been a live-alone bachelor for a decade out of my life. I know how to throw junk in a pot and cook it into something edible."

"I never knew you cooked," I said, intrigued by this new side of Roy I never would've guessed was there.

"I don't," he said, walking into the kitchen. "Could you bring the chair over?"

He sat on the chair and I sat on the counter and together he talked me through peeling vegetables, crushing garlic, and chunking meat into our biggest pot. He poured milk into the broth and stuck a lid over it. He lit the stove under the pot and let it simmer. We cleaned up while we waited for the stew to cook down.

"It's stew," I said, brushing peelings into the trash. "You said soup earlier."

"Same thing."

"Stew's better."

Roy smiled. "I can't believe that kid gave you beef sirloin for nothing. That meat was too pretty to be free."

"It wasn't free," I said. "She just bought a ticket into your life. You two are officially acquaintances."

"It's a hunk of beef," he said. "How did you just manage to make it that complicated?"

"Women are complicated."

He laughed. "Free meat. That's all I see."

We ate at the counter where we already sat, straight from the pot, ravenous and not interested in taking the time to set the table with individual bowls. We burnt our tongues a little, but it turned out to be worth it. Against my doubts, Roy's stew in all its brown bubbling glory was delicious, the best thing we'd eaten since leaving our old lives. I made a good breakfast, but nothing beat dinner.

"Riza?" Roy said, swallowing a spoonful and setting his utensils down on the counter.

"Yes?" I replied, still digging in despite quickly becoming full. I'd known Roy long enough to eat like a pig around him. He looked up at me, hesitating. His hand fumbled for his glass and he took a couple gulps of lukewarm water.

"Yes?" I repeated.

He set his glass down and locked my gaze. "I'm ready to resume the investigation," he said. "Into the possibility of Drachma gaining access to Flame Alchemy."

My hand slackened and my fingers went limp, my spoon slipping from them and dropping with a slosh and a plunk into the pot. My face felt numb like the muscles weren't responding. I looked back at him.

But my eyes weren't seeing anything.

"That's why you've been so happy today," I said flatly. "You have the strength to act now."

"I've been happy?" he asked.

I pulled my spoon out of the pot and tossed it in the sink.

He sighed. "I know we've only just barely broken even, here. But even if nothing comes of it for us, don't you at least want to find out what's going on? If Flame Alchemy spreads, you and I know better than anyone what destruction and carnage it could cause. I don't want that to happen."

"Neither do I," I said, trying to smile. "You're right, Roy. I think we're finally ready. Just give me my orders and I'll be there."

"No," he said, patting my shoulder. "I don't give orders anymore. We're on the same playing field now. We'll do this one together."

I saluted him, a faint smile tapering across my lips. "Sir."

He saluted back, his excitement brimming into a pearly grin.

"At ease, soldier," I said. It felt good to say it.

He nodded, lowering his hand. "It'll be easier with you here. Even if things get hard, it'll be easier." He smiled tenderly. "Thank you, Riza. For staying."

Something in me wanted to call him 'sir' again. He deserved to be called 'sir.'

"I haven't regretted it," I said, and I meant it.

But still…

I knew Roy's heart's priority was to protect humankind from the deadly alchemy he has flaunted so freely over the years. But part of me wondered if just a fraction of his subconscious just missed the thrill of risking his life for his country. Roy was addicted to being a martyr.

The cottage was small with doorways so low that Roy could easily bump his head on some if he wasn't careful. It only had one bedroom and I'd given it to Roy because at the beginning of our stay he had really needed it. He'd offered to switch now that he was recovered so much, but we both knew he was too tall for the couch.

I didn't mind it; the couch was a good size for me and it was very soft with its velvet cushions and downy throw-pillows. Perhaps privacy was a little lacking, but my real issue was the bathroom. The cottage had one bathroom and one only, located in the hallway between Roy's room and the sitting room where I stayed. We shared it between us and I thought that would work out fine. We were military and we knew how to schedule our showers around each other to a T.

But the bathroom was old fashioned and came with only a bath with no shower included. This meant taking the time to draw baths every day, once for me and once for Roy, and then knocking on the door every three minutes to make sure Roy wasn't drowning when I left him.

On top of that, as if the nightmare of sharing a bathroom with a bachelor wasn't enough, my bachelor just happened to be an invalid too weak to lift the lid and with very poor aim. Roy was too sick to clean up his messes so every morning I handled the mopping and scrubbing on my own.

The bathroom got better as he got better, but the road was long and hard for me. I was just relieved that there was hope of improvement, that this wasn't how he usually treated his facilities.

Roy fell asleep again after our dinner-for-lunch and I let him nap so I could take my bath in peace. With him out so deep, there wasn't much chance on him banging on the door in the middle of my shampooing saying he needs to pee.

The bathroom was located toward the center of the cottage and was built without any windows and had not even been installed with electricity; neither had the bedroom, just the kitchen and sitting room. Roy had left his ignition glove on the sink next to a burnt out candle. There were four candles, one at every wall of the room wherever it would fit, and Roy preferred to light them all at once with his glove rather than take the time to walk around with a match. As for me, matches were my only option.

Something about lighting the candles that afternoon startled me. I'd shut the door, blocking out all the natural light and refilling the room with the deep yellow flickers of fire coming off the candles' wicks. The contrast between sunlight and candlelight was overwhelming to me.

I stepped into the water, hot almost to steam, just like I liked it. Usually by the afternoon there wasn't a drop of hot water left in Clover Valley, but Roy sometimes 'encouraged' the temperature to rise if it suited him; like when he needed to wash out a greasy pot from 'dinner's' stew, for example.

I'd been greedy in drawing my bath this time. I had the water almost up to the rim of the tub, like a tank around me. I slid down into it until my chin passed under and then my lips and my forehead and all the way over the tip of my nose. I opened my eyes, feeling the heavy, flowing warmth gliding over my body, the hotness burning under my eyelids with every blink in an pleasurably comfortable way. I grinned and tiny bubbles escaped out from the thin spaces between my teeth, scalding water cascading through the cracks and dribbling onto my tongue. My hair spread and danced around me and over me, brushing my skin in fleeting waves.

The ceiling above me was black; black as a night, so overcast one couldn't see the stars or even the moon. The water over my gaze made it blur and ripple, the light from the candles sparkling and reflecting of the water's surface. It was almost like the water was on fire.

I listened to the muffled sound of the water beating and swishing past my ears, imaging the sounds running together with the pounding of my heart. I imagined the hiss of hot metal being plunged into water, the bubbling and sputtering, the hiss of water pouring over charred bodies. Under water you couldn't smell anything, but I could smell the meat, the meat from the stew, the smell of muscle from something that was once alive being cooked down into something that wasn't. And the stew meat began to smell like skin and flesh and I could hear it crackling and sizzling like it was on a griddle.

My back was feeling hot. The water was too hot. It would've had to have been to have bothered my back's scar tissue and damaged nerves. The sizzling continued and the smell got stronger, taking on the burnt sting of smoke.

Suddenly I realized that the smell couldn't have been the stew because we'd put what was left away in the fridge, covered up and stowed it away. I wasn't imagining; I was remembering. I was remembering what I'd smelled on myself, what I'd heard, and slowly how I'd felt.

I bolted up. I'd forgotten to come up for air.

I sputtered and coughed, leaning over the rim of the tub as thin sheets of runaway water sloshed onto the bathmat. I clawed at my shoulders as if I was searching for flames to pat out, but there was nothing left. The flames had turned back to four candles and the fierce water had turned to cozy warmth. All I smelled was wetness and suds and steam. All I heard was my panting, my coughing, the water sloshing, and soon, my sobbing.

"No," I whispered, hugging my knees to my chest. "I don't want to go back. I don't want to figure it out. I just don't."

And he was blind to it.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty: A Night on the Town

Roy tossed me the two euros across the table and I stuck them in the envelope marked, 'Howard.'

"I still can't believe you hired a ten-year-old to be our Intel," he said, opening up the box with the name 'Brown' scribbled across the lid in orange crayon.

"Aw," I said. "Howie's great."

It was true. Of all the people we could have stumbled across to feed us information from Central and beyond, Howard was not a bad catch. He wasn't really itching to get to leave Clover Valley any time soon, but the little boy was fascinated by the outside world and what was going on that he was lucky enough not to have to deal with at home. To Howard, the world was like the greatest storybook ever written.

He'd been leaving us boxes of clippings from political magazines and military newsletters every afternoon in exchange for one euro per box plus another euro to cover express shipping costs. He cut out the articles himself, filtering through the fluff and keeping anything he figured we might be interested in; the Fuhrer, State Alchemists, or anything to do with foreign affairs.

Roy passed me a small stack and we set to work sifting the papers, doing the same thing we'd been doing for the past three weeks. Personally, I thought it was getting a little tedious. We'd been searching for hints on the commercialization of Flame Alchemy for nearly eight hours out of every day and come up with next to nothing.

Roy's 'act of terrorism' had been marked the act of a madman and it was recorded that the madman had shot himself in the head shortly after his assassination attempt on the Fuhrer. Roy said that the article sounded about right. The media had twisted around in their heads that somehow the Fuhrer being shot while being involved in a "photo op" with Drachma was the equivalent of him taking a bullet for Drachma, which was more or less Roy and Grumman's intention in the first place.

And, of course, Flame Alchemy wasn't mentioned.

Roy seemed to enjoy every moment of our investigation. He was the kind of man who couldn't sit still when things weren't right and just having something to do was a Godsend to him. I was glad he was content with the tedium. As boring as it was for me, spending all our time sifting through clippings meant we weren't spending our time hunting down real answers. I preferred tedium to success.

And I was afraid to admit that to Roy.

"Hey," Roy said, kicking my feet under the table. "You want coffee?"

"I'm alright," I said. It was a little late for coffee. "Have you found anything yet?"

He sighed, standing and walking into the kitchen to get the pot going.

"Maybe," he said. "It's kind of a stupid lead."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's just some advertisement from that support-journal for military wives. It's about a bunch of storybooks about soldiers and State Alchemists to help kids feel closer to their diploid fathers."

Why not diploid mothers, Roy?

"So," I said, confused. "That's nice."

"Well, the only thing that caught my eye was the author. She's an Amnestrian citizen but her father's apparently from Drachma and she has a dual-citizenship to there as well. Her books are translated into seven different languages. We've got all these countries out killing one another and back home their kids are all reading the same bedtime story."

"You think she has something to do with Flame Alchemy?" I said, skeptical.

"Don't look at me like that. I warned you it was a longshot. But this woman obviously has connections and I'd rather not overlook her for now."

I smiled like I thought he was cute. "Put her with the others."

Roy came back to the table from the kitchen and pulled out the black and white page from his pile, laying it neatly on the bookshelf with all our other sad excuses for leads. He looked triumphant setting it down to thicken the stack by just a little.

"It looks like a nice day," he said, glancing out the open window.

Winter had been fading into spring and the suburban temperatures had warmed the air faster than we were used to having back in Central. The fair weather had been more than enough incentive for Roy to take care of himself so he'd be fit to go out every day. He claimed he'd go stir crazy if he went back to sitting inside all the time.

"Do you want to take a break?" I asked, setting down my papers. "We could walk into town for supper."

"That late already?" he asked, pulling out his watch.

After all we'd done to keep our identities secret, Roy still insisted on holding on to his State Alchemist watch. He said it cheered him up, boosted his morale. I settled for him putting a piece of tape over the insignia.

"Yeah," he said, pulling out our key. "I'm going to be hungry any minute."

We ate at a frites stand that would put a curry bratwurst in your cone of fries for an extra euro. Roy loved that greasy mess, especially since I'd banned him from having it most of the time for the sake of his health. The stand was my favorite place to eat in Clover Valley because it was owned by a shriveled old man who was almost completely deaf and didn't give a second thought to flirting with Roy.

Of course, that didn't stop the vultures from coming over and making up for the vendor's negligence.

"Hi, Jimmy," Laura squeaked in her little cat-voice, tapping Roy's shoulder. She smiled at me. "Hi, Elisabeth."

I smiled back. She was asserting her authority by acknowledging my presence, making it clear that she was not afraid to act like she had a right to Roy, even with his wife there watching.

"You having a night on the town?" she asked, stepping in to stand between us.

She was twenty-two years old and hadn't broken five feet. I felt like a giant standing next to her. I could have bench-pressed her with one arm. She knew it too. Standing next to her, I couldn't have felt less feminine than if I'd been wearing five guns and a full unisex uniform.

"Just dinner tonight," I said.

"Well, that's boring. You should come down to my sister's place instead. It's a lot more fun than a frites stand."

Laura loved sounding dirty. Her elder sister owned a family pub with her husband and brother in-law and Laura had been working there as a waitress since she was old enough to carry a tray. Going there after dark with the drunken crowds was Clover's girls' idea of naughty fun.

Roy didn't care for the place. He knew what a real bar was supposed to be like—he'd grown up in one—and Clover Valley had nothing like that.

"I'm a little tired," Roy said.

I held his arm on instinct like he might have been about to collapse. "Do you need to find a bench?"

"I can wait."

Laura took the initiative and held his other arm. "I can take him over while you pay. It's no problem."

Maybe not a problem for you.

Roy chuckled, shrugging us both off. "I can walk." He looked at me. "I don't want you carrying all that hot food over on your own."

"Aw," Laura cooed, her saucer-eyes planted on Roy like she thought he was a sexy bunny-whisperer.

"Are you worried about me?" I asked him in near offense, ignoring Laura's gushing.

"I don't want you to drop it on yourself," he said uneasily, catching the vibe that he'd said something wrong. "It's a lot of food."

"Make two trips," Laura suggested.

"Really, James, you of all people should know what these hands can do, and it's not dropping fries and sausage down my dress."

Laura paled. Roy's face got tight then crinkly, and finally it quivered and broke into a full on grin. He quaked with subdued laughter, gritting his teeth together to keep from making noise. He probably would have doubled over and let himself howl if Laura hadn't been there to spectate.

"You have no idea how bad that sounded," he cackled. "Oh, that was unreal!"

Of course I knew how bad it sounded. That was me asserting my authority. Laura was blushing now and I felt accomplished.

I handed the frites guy the coins and grabbed the paper cones of fried food, one in each hand.

"Go sit down," I said.

Roy sighed through another laugh. "That's what I call a night on the town."

He put out his hand. I stared at it. Was he really asking to carry his cone?

"I said I could do it," I said. "You're tired."

"I'm not much of a gentleman if I treat my wife like a packhorse. Humor me, huh?"

"It's kind of heavy, James," I said. "The grease it making the paper come apart."

"Come on, Lizzy," he said, his grinning face showing something genuine behind it. "I'd really rather not be useless."

We were standing so close I could feel his warm breath tickling my cheek when he spoke. I handed him the more stable of the cones and told him to be careful. I lead the way to the bench and told myself not to think about the way his breath felt on my face anymore.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One: Mustang and Hawkeye's First Anniversary

"Happy Anniversary," Roy said, leaning over me from the side of my couch and opening the curtains behind me.

I buried my face in my pillow. "Go to hell."

"It's been two months," he said, leaning back onto his heels. "Two months to the day since Mr. and Mrs. Brown became Mr. and Mrs. Brown. We've been married for two whole months, dear Elisabeth."

"It's seven in the morning!" I exclaimed as I caught a glimpse at the wall-clock. I reached under the cushion for my pistol.

Roy cracked up. "Are you going to shoot me for waking you up too early?"

"I liked you better when you were too sick to get up in the morning," I said, coming out empty handed. I'd been sloppy with stashing guns in this God-awful quiet town.

"In sickness and in health," Roy quoted.

"You're seriously acknowledging our fake Anniversary?"

"Why not?"

"At seven in the morning?"

"I'll make coffee."

"Do that," I groaned, rolling away from him. "And close the damn curtain."

With all the noise Roy was making in the kitchen, I finally just got up and had coffee with him. He made toast too. Burnt toast.

"Aren't you supposed to make me breakfast in bed?" I grumbled, scraping away the black flecks from the surface of my bread with the butter knife.

"You're so great first thing in the morning," Roy said with a playful smile.

"Thanks," I said flatly, grabbing a handful of my unwashed matted hair. "I think I drooled on myself."

Roy laughed. "See? Just, great."

I wondered what he thought was so great about ratty hair and sleep-drool.

He'd been waking up in weird moods lately; impulsive, optimistic, practically anything to indicate he'd lost touch with reality. He'd even gone so far as to write a letter to the storybook author, Nadya Amelin, from the military-wife magazine. He'd asked as an anonymous reader if she'd thought about writing anything about the Flame Alchemist; hint-hint, wink-wink. Moron. He'd had Howard send it for him, without having me read it first, of course. I called him an idiot and left it at that.

He hadn't even been spending all his time filtering through Howard's clippings or reading his secondhand papers, limiting himself to a couple of hours of reading a day. Instead he helped clean up after meals and went outside to walk around or to visit the neighbors. He even made me dinner every once in a while.

I was glad to see him doing so well, but I wondered if such amazing progress was healthy. He just seemed too content with the situation. It seemed alright to me that I had made peace with what had happened to our lives, but it made me uncomfortable to think he might actually be doing better than me at this point. It scared me that he'd adjusted.

It scared me that Roy Mustang wasn't acting as much like a selfish bachelor anymore.

It scared me that Roy Mustang was turning into James Brown.

And I was still just Riza.

"Hey, Riza," he called from his room. "I'm taking a bath. Don't use the hot water from the sink for a while, alright?"

"Gotcha," I replied, shuffling through the clean laundry basket. "You need a towel?"

He walked into the living room. "Yeah, thanks."

I paused. He'd already gotten his shirt off with nothing left on him but his dark green pajama trousers. My eyes traced the dented scars leftover from the bullets across his chest and stomach, mingling into the patch of discolored flesh where he'd seared himself shut after being attacked by a homunculus. His skin was pale-white behind the flecks of scar tissue, the sunlight creating perfect shadows where his lean muscles formed ridges down his exposed body. I'd seen him without his shirt on a hundred times while nursing him after he was shot, but somehow the fact that he was standing on his own and looking straight at me this time made it different.

"Thanks," he repeated, spreading his hand a little more forward.

I shoved the towel into his hand a little more abruptly than I should have. "Enjoy."

I felt hopeless as he shut the bathroom door. I'd left my comb by the mirror and I suddenly wanted my hair not to be in knots. It didn't seem fair that he was the only one to look good first thing out of bed.

Of course, if I'd walked around topless all the time, he probably would have been a little bit distracted himself.

Maybe if my back didn't look like a human-fresco inspired by ground beef, that is.

Roy played cards with Howard before lunch while I took my bath, which was convenient for me because, with Howard babysitting, I could take my time. Roy had never been much of a child fanatic, but he seemed to like Howard more than a lot. Howard was knowledgeable for his age and kept up a conversation with Roy relatively easily without Roy having to dumb it down for him.

Howard thought Mr. James was the coolest guy ever and actually went so far as to tell his mother that Mr. James was as smart as the Fuhrer, or so she'd told me later. He said I was pretty smart too, for a girl. I was flattered that I still looked young enough to him for him to think that I still had cooties.

I came out of the bathroom with my robe on instead of just my towel, not wanting to risk Howard seeing my monstrosity of a back and running away screaming. Roy and I had a habit of changing outside the bathroom; the steam from the bath made clothes get soggy if you left them lying around too long.

I came into the sitting area where the boys were lounged out with the cards and peanuts and I bent behind the couch to grab my duffle where I kept all my clothes.

"Don't mind me," I said, leaning over the armrest on Howard's side. "Just need my stuff."

I flipped my hair over my shoulder; the longer it got, the worse it dripped. I could hear Roy trying to muffle a laugh with his hand.

"Honey," he said. "You need help?"

I huffed. "It's easier when I'm not reaching over people."

Roy stood and snaked his longer arm past mine to grip the bag, yanking it up and plopping it onto the couch. "Better?"

"Thanks," I said, swinging the duffle over my shoulder. "I'll see you in a few."

"Right."

Howard grabbed Roy's sleeve. "Why'd your wife hide her clothes behind the couch?"

Roy blinked. "She just did the laundry. And that's where she puts it sometimes."

I had to admit, it was a decent save.

"My mom puts it in her room."

"Yeah," I said. "Well, our room's kind of small."

"Your house is puny," Howard agreed.

"Thanks, kid," Roy said with a dry smile. "Grab the deck. It's your deal."

As glad as I was to have Howard as our ally and a convenient distraction for Roy, the little guy was barely ten years old and he had a big mouth. As soon as he entered our domain, Roy and I had to be on our best behavior, because if we did something Howard thought was odd, his mother would hear about it as soon as he was back home. And today Roy just happened to yell to me from the sitting room that we should get a cake to celebrate our anniversary. Apparently Howard had been giving Roy graphic descriptions of the sweets at Howard's favorite bakeshop and Roy couldn't stop the impulse to find an excuse to go there.

From that point, I wished Howard would just spend the night with us rather than go home and spread the word throughout Clover Valley that the Browns were on their two-month anniversary. Two-month anniversaries were something teenyboppers celebrated for being able to maintain a relationship for more than a week. I had a morbid feeling that the women of Clover would share similar sentiments when they found out it involved their James.

"You know they're going to do something about it," I warned, closing the door behind Howard as he ran up the hill to his home. "As soon as they catch wind."

"It's not going to spread," Roy assured me. "It's the afternoon already. What's Howard's mom going to do? Hand out flyers?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"We'll turn them down, alright?" he said. "I promise. If they try to do something about our anniversary then we'll find a way out of it."

"Do new couples honestly celebrate after two months?" I asked, exhausted at the idea.

Roy shrugged. "Hughes made a big deal about it."

I smiled tenderly. "He was the authority on this kind of thing, huh?"

Roy laughed, his eyes glazed with melancholy. "Yeah."

Whether my marriage was real or not, the women of Clover honestly believed Roy and I were husband and wife. Having them flirt with my husband in celebration of our wedding anniversary was too much to dwell on. Even for me. I felt violated and I didn't even have the right to complain to Roy about it. As far as he was concerned, we were just roommates with the same last name.

We got the expected knock on our door shortly after we'd finished dinner before we'd even washed the dishes. Roy answered it. I knew that, whoever it was, they wouldn't take 'no' from me.

Camilla stood on the stoop holding a lit lantern to form a bubble of dusky light around her like a halo. Beside her stood Hattie, the slender twenty-six year-old barmaid from the tavern two doors from Camilla's sister's pub.

Camilla could be irritating at times, maybe a bit too enthusiastic, but I'd take her and Mrs. Benton both over Hattie.

Hattie had the build of a poster-girl from the men's barracks and her clothing choice suited it. Her dazzling green eyes seemed to glitter when she smiled. Our hair was the same color, the same texture, and the same length, but somehow hers was able to fall a lot better than mine. Never had I missed holding my revolver to such a degree until I met Hattie, the one person I'd ever actually wanted to shoot with my eyes open.

Besides Lust, maybe, but she hadn't really been human so she probably didn't count as a person.

"Hello, ladies," Roy said, leaning on the doorframe. "What can I do for you this evening?"

He was fighting to keep his eyes looking above Hattie's neck. I was proud of him for trying. Hattie swayed forward to stand directly at Camilla's side.

"We heard it's a special day for you, Jimmy," Hattie said with a pearly smile. "Thought we'd visit."

She didn't even have the respect to call it our anniversary.

"You know, that sounds great but Elisabeth and I are just finishing our dinner…"

"Well," Camilla interjected. "If you've already eaten then we can take you straight to the bakery."

And thus were spoken the words of death.

I could see Roy straightening his posture with his back to me. This was bad. I hadn't allowed him any sweats since the accident and just the thought of fresh cake was sure to set him drooling by now.

"What bakery?" he asked, his voice rising slightly higher than its natural smooth tone.

"The one by the honey vendor?" I guessed, asserting myself into the conversation.

Hattie and Camilla exchanged a glance.

"No," Hattie said. "We want to take you someplace nice."

As in, the bakeshop I was loyal to was apparently not nice.

"Maybe the place Howard was telling us about this afternoon," Roy said meekly. "Clover Muffin?"

What a stupid name for a bakeshop. Or for any kind of shop.

"Yes!" said Camilla. "That's right."

She was wearing rouge along her cheekbones tonight and she was happy to show it off. It felt like murky fog was clinging to my lungs at the sight of her as she fluttered in place like a hovering hummingbird.

I'd never been unattractive growing up—I'd taken after my mother, besides having my father's eyes, and Mom had been stunning—but, having grown to five-foot-six by the age of twelve through an untimely growth spurt, I'd never had the chance to be a petite little hummingbird.

None of the short guys had ever wanted to walk beside me, afraid to be compared. Naturally, I hadn't had my books carried for me very often.

But I looked delicate next to Roy. He was easily six feet tall and I had to crane my head up so much to meet his eyes that it hurt my neck to stand face to face with him for too long. Seeing him standing in front of tiny Camilla reminded me of just how much of a Church steeple he really was.

"Let's go, Jim," I said, standing up from the table. "They've gone to the trouble. It sounds like fun."

Roy looked back at me, puzzled. I smiled. It would've been bad tactics to let him make the final decision in front of those two predatory beasts.

"Really?" he asked.

I nodded. "Just let me freshen up."

He grinned excitedly, like a kid in a freaking candy store. I gestured for him to put his shoes on as I hurried to 'our' bedroom to get myself pulled together.

I'd left my usual clothes in the duffle behind the couch, but I wasn't after my usual clothes tonight. I stepped into Roy's tiny wardrobe, the place where we kept the things we didn't want people to see; guns, passports, excessive first-aid supplies. Then there were some hangers with garment bags over them for travel.

I snatched the dress closest to me and pulled into it; the red one, the tailored one that brushed my knees and had a genuine 'Elisabeth Smith' cleavage-with-class neckline. I hadn't worn it before. I hadn't even tried it on before. One of my girl-friends had surrendered it to me after she'd finally accepted the fate of her baby-body. She'd said I needed it more than anyone else did. I didn't argue. She was right.

I layered on a thin black evening sweater, knowing the weather didn't merit it but my exposed shoulders did. I didn't even check the mirror, didn't even comb my hair all the way; just flipped it back and over my shoulders. I knew that if I took too long there would be room for the women to comment on how me looking decent took effort.

I stepped into my strappy heels and stepped into the hallway.

"How'd I do?" I asked, flicking out the lights behind me as I went.

Roy squinted, studying me intently through the dimness of the house. "Four minutes and twenty-three seconds."

I came next to him and took his hand, smiling in a giggly newlywed way. "I meant, how do I look?"

"You're a doll," Hattie said, setting the standard like Roy needed help complimenting his wife.

"Oh, I love your dress," Camilla gushed. "Where did you get it?"

"Not here," I replied, a little too delighted to finally get to say that.

Roy was still staring down at me, his hand tightening around mine, and I wasn't sure he knew he was doing it.

"Where'd you get that dress?" he asked, finally.

"You want to know?" I replied, really not wanting to say I'd gotten it secondhand from a friend who'd had a baby.

"I'm going to have that dress-shop shut down," he said, smiling appreciatively down at me. "Every guy in Clover Valley's going to be staring at you tonight."

I blushed and told myself I was doing it on purpose. "What makes you so sure they don't do that already?"

"Shall we go?" Camilla interjected.

"Lead the way," Roy said, eyes still locked with mine.

Hattie and Camilla took slow steps forward. I let go of Roy's hand, placing it on his shoulder and standing on my toes to reach his ear.

"Do me a favor," I whispered. "This is supposed to be our anniversary. Try not to make it look like you're interested in every girl in the room but me."

I came back down onto my heels and coaxed him foreword by his wrist.

He knit his brow. "What?"

I kept walking, rolling my eyes.

"Seriously," he said. "What am I supposed to be doing, again?"

It was a good sign, I supposed, that he hadn't realized what Clover's girls had been at him about. Roy had a way of letting things go to his head and I didn't know if I could handle it from both ends.


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: Two chapters in one day? Wow! This author's great. And impatient about posting new chapters.

Chapter Twenty Two: Being in love with my husband at an inconvenient time.

They had the bakery done up inside with little lamps with blown-glass shades so the light shone through them like dancing pools of color. The whole place smelled like fresh baguette crusts and heavy chocolate frosting. The tables had pink tablecloths over them and tablecloths meant upscale to me. Hattie and Camilla really did want to take him somewhere nice.

Much to Roy's surprise and much not to mine, many others had also heard from Howard's mother of the Browns' big day and had congregated out and about to wish us well. Roy looked like he could have been standing at the top of a float for his Golden Jubilee as Fuhrer. He waved like he knew all of them while it turned out he remembered the names of next to none of them. I supposed it must have comforted him simply to know anyone at this point, being as isolated as he was now.

"So," he said, pulling my chair out from under the draping pink tablecloth. "What am I allowed?"

I sat and let him scoot me in. Such a gentleman when he wanted something from me.

"Well," I said, smiling triumphantly as he sat across from me with no regard to pulling out any of the other girls' chairs. "Seeing as it's our two-month anniversary, why don't we ask for a slice of what we had at our wedding?"

Roy widened his eyes just a bit at the word 'wedding.'

"So." He cleared his throat. "Chocolate?"

I chuckled. "I think Howard told us about something with chocolate custard in the frosting. Does that sound okay?"

Roy's eyes turned murky with choco-lust at my suggestion.

Hattie leaned into the seat next to Roy's. "That one's no good. You want a slice of the Chocolate Espresso."

Laura, who had just come in, agreed fervently with Hattie and handed Roy a menu so he could see for himself. I didn't even bother asking for a menu of my own. It seemed silly to have a menu for cakes anyway.

"It's a little late for coffee," I said numbly, not really expecting anyone to hear me.

"Not coffee," Camilla was quick to correct. "Espresso flavoring."

"So, what's the espresso flavoring made of if it's not made out of coffee?" I asked.

Camilla couldn't answer. Hattie filled in for her.

"It's just in the frosting," she said, turning her nose up like I wasn't one to judge. "It's not that much. You're not going to die."

I wanted to tell her that caffeine was a homeopathic blood thinner and two months back espresso frosting could have killed Roy easily within hours.

Roy slapped the menu closed. "This is stupid. We had double-chocolate something at our wedding so we'll have double-chocolate now. You're supposed to drink coffee, not eat the stuff. Liz?"

I laughed, taking the menu from him and handing it back to Laura.

"A slice of 'double-chocolate something,'" I called to the man behind the counter. "And milk. For two."

"Celebrating Fullmetal too?" Roy asked me softly, smiling. "Nice touch."

"No," I said, my eyes shifting from side to side. "Celebrating an old nameless friend from back home."

Roy leaned back. "Here's to old nameless friends from back home. Guess it's their anniversary too."

I could see Camilla, Laura, and especially Hattie itching to get back into our business, but they had no clue as to what we were whispering about. Roy had thrown them off with his blunt comment about their favorite caffeine-laden cake. I wondered if they'd realized that was how he really was like most of the time.

They were probably still in the dark about Roy's personality on that one. Most people didn't get too far past that point. It wasn't really his fault. He didn't even try to be callous. He just couldn't help himself sometimes. He'd get so fixed on his own ideas that it never seemed to get through to him that other people might be thinking something different than what he was thinking.

The sad part was, Roy was usually right.

Roy ate his cake so fast I was worried he'd end up vomiting in the street before I could even get him back home. But he downed it with surprising grace, drinking his milk in a few steady swigs and then asking if I was going to finish mine, which I was. I moderately despised him for acting so hungry. The women in the village were already on my case about starving him. They didn't need to see him eating like he hadn't been fed in days.

"Elisabeth," he said, nudging my bare ankle with his shoe. "There's going to be music outside. Hattie says Mr. Benton plays the cello."

"I remember," I said, putting another forkful of chocolate decadence into my mouth.

I didn't need Hattie-the-hussy to tell me anything.

He leaned forward, grinning pleadingly. "I want to go listen."

"It's going to be great," Laura said in her whimsical way.

"Can we listen from here?" I asked. "Until I'm done eating."

Hattie scoffed. "It'll be over by the time you're done."

"It's fine," Roy sighed, hunkering back down, his eyes still on the door. "Maybe we'll catch the end of it."

I set my fork on my plate, licking my upper lip. "I didn't know you liked music?"

Because he didn't.

"I don't," he said with an ironic chuckle. "I just haven't heard any in a while. Besides you singing in the bathtub, that is."

I felt myself blushing again as the other girls snickered amongst themselves.

"That's reason enough to want something legit," I said with an embarrassed cough. "I hadn't realized you could hear me."

"It wasn't that bad," he said. "But you are pretty resonant."

"I know what I sound like, honey. Otherwise, I'd be singing in more places than just the bathroom." I sighed, rolling my eyes. "Go on out. I'll meet you there."

Roy looked like Havoc with a new girlfriend. He jumped out of his chair, thanked me, and walked out with a couple of girls at either arm. I was glad to see them go. Listening to their commentary on my singing in the tub was something I was more than happy to do without.

Honestly, I really never had seen Roy get excited over music before. But it was clear enough to me now that there was more making him excited about this than just the cello. I wondered if maybe it was all the attention.

All the waves, winks, and girls on his arms.

My heart sank into my stomach and I stopped eating again.

I was sitting alone in the bakeshop eating my two-month anniversary cake alone in the dark by the light of dim bulbs. In all honesty, I knew that this was not as horrific as I was making it out to be. Roy, my roommate of two months, had finished his cake early and so had gone out ahead of me to enjoy some street music with some of our friends. But to Elisabeth Smith, sweet little bubbly newlywed Elisabeth Smith, who'd only just finished nursing her devoted husband back to health, this couldn't have been more of a disaster.

He'd ditched me in the middle of our date so I could eat alone in the dark while he played man-slut with the local bad-girl wannabes in plain sight. I'd even dressed up. I hadn't dressed up for Roy since I was still in high school.

Of course, Roy never really caught on to the Elisabeth Smith side of things. He only saw Riza, First Lieutenant Riza. That's all he'd ever seen.

Oh, I could have shot him.

I set my cake to the side and made my way to the door; I could finish eating later. I'd known being a fugitive with Roy and fleeing the law together would be dangerous and risky and exhausting. I never realized the same thing could be said for fleeing the packs of estrogen pumped she-wolves of Clover Valley.

Just opening the bakery's door by a crack, I could already hear the vibrating sound of the cello's bow weaving back and forth in waves over its strings. It was going strong and resonant, deep like my daddy's voice when he'd told me not to be afraid. I stepped out, realizing in a sudden burst just how much I'd missed music too.

The dirt road was making a gravely scraping sound as shoed feet slid and stepped across it in the chaos of public dancing. Someone, God only knew who, had likely started it at random and now I could count ten, maybe twelve couples, doing their best at hopping messily along to the music of a single cello. Mrs. Benton was among them and I pitied her husband for playing the music she was whoring to.

Half the town seemed to be there; the nightlife half, anyway. Many were circled outside the dancers chatting and observing. Roy was at the far end being tugged at by a few girls who probably wanted to dance with him. I snorted to myself. See your Jimmy dance and I'll give you credit for still loving him.

Mrs. Bay, the old widow with the stark white hair and the surplus of tricked-out aprons, came beside me and gave me a grandmotherly pat.

"Hallo, Lizzy," she said with a dentured smile. "Lovely party, dear."

"Yes," I said, glad to finally have someone acknowledging me despite the fact that it was the old widow-woman suffering the beginnings of dementia. "I'm surprised to see you out, Mrs. Bay. It's almost seven."

"Is it?" she asked, a little disoriented. "So it is."

She seemed delighted, like a kid who'd sneakily stayed up past her bedtime.

"You look precious," she said, pawing the skirt of my dress. "Just darling."

"Thank you," I said, glancing back at Roy.

The girls were still at him and I wanted to rescue him.

"Aren't you warm?" Mrs. Bay asked, touching my sweater.

"Yes," I said, distracted. I caught myself. "No, not really."

Mrs. Bay pulled at the black crocheted sleeve, stretching the sweater back for me. I hugged it back on forcefully.

"I'm fine," I said firmly.

"You'll make yourself sick," she warned maternally. "It's much warmer in Clover Valley than it is in your north, dear."

"I'm fine," I said, stepping back.

"What's the problem," Mrs. Benton asked, panting as she stepped toward us from the dance floor.

"No problem," I said.

My heart raced. Of all people to interfere.

"Lizzy's got her coat on and she's terribly hot," said Mrs. Bay, holding her own chin worriedly.

"It's just a sweater," I said, backing away.

Mrs. Benton looked me up and down and I could tell she wasn't sure she wanted me to take any more off than I already had. Most of the people in Clover, Benton included, probably hadn't realized how completely out of sorts I'd looked, and had the right to look, since arriving. They would never have guessed I'd been hiding a woman underneath my knit-shirts and comfy leisure clothing.

It was like being in the army all over again; that moment when your male comrades finally see you in a skirt and realize you're female for the first time in the five years you've been working with them. The inquisitive eyes of the people in the street said my red dress was doing the trick for them.

Mrs. Benton came to stand with us. "So, take it off."

"I'm fine," I said, hugging the sweater tighter, wishing Benton had decided she wanted me to keep covered.

"You're sweating beads," she laughed toxically, like I was stupid.

I swallowed hard, feeling a little lightheaded. "I think I want to go home."

"You'll feel better if you take off your coat," said Mrs. Benton.

"I can take it for you," volunteered a young man with the beginnings of a mustache on his upper lip, stepping toward me and putting his arm out.

"We've got a whole pile of jackets over here," said another, pointing behind him. "It's safe. No one steals in Clover."

"I know," I said, stepping away again, my eyes shifting. "I'm alright."

I looked around for Roy. I knew I'd already made too big of a deal of it to tone it down for myself. Telling them I was fine at this point would only draw more attention to me, to the fact that I was being stubborn over something that should have been trivial.

But Roy wasn't where I'd left him; he wasn't anywhere in the crowd. I saw him. There he was. He was dancing, dancing with Hattie in the middle of everyone.

"James?" I called, my voice coming out panicked and airy like a squeaker.

Mrs. Benton came beside me and 'helped' me at prying my sweater off. I jerked away.

"Please," I said. "That's enough. This is a misunderstanding. I'll keep it on."

"You look horrible," Mrs. Benton kindly pointed out. "You really should try to cool down. Come sit."

She tugged my sweater again.

"James?" I called, going on tiptoe to see him better. "James, let's go home."

He didn't seem to hear me. He was smiling at Hattie as they swayed together and she was laughing with her face leaning dangerously close to his. It felt the fog on my lungs again, the jealous anger.

"Jimmy," I pleaded, stepping forward.

He looked up and met my eyes like my voice had surprised him. Before I could say anything he grinned, as if to say, "Isn't this great?" Then he looked back down at Harriet and he spun her around.

I felt my throat and lungs burning and this time it wasn't jealousy.

I was alone.

I'd had enough practice at willing myself not to cry to keep from succumbing to tears. I didn't even need to cry this time. Just feeling it was enough.

Mrs. Benton came to my side and rubbed in between my shoulder blades like she thought this was all because I'd seen my husband dancing with another woman. I wanted to smack her upside the head and tell her to get the hell away from my back. I should have just done it.

"You'd feel so much better, honey," said Mrs. Benton. "If you just took a seat."

With her hand already rubbing my back, I didn't even feel the sweater easing off until my left shoulder was already halfway exposed. The brush of the half-chilled wind hit against its skin at about the same time I heard Mrs. Benton's gasp. And then there were simultaneous gasps but with different voices.

I felt my stomach flop, my arm reaching back shakily to take the left side of my sweater and yank it away from Mrs. Benton. I pulled my sweater back up without even turning to look at her, tightening it and buttoning it closed down the middle.

I was breathing; in, out. Shaky as I was, I was still breathing.

I walked with heavy, clumsy steps that I couldn't even feel myself making.

I could hear it, the crackling, the hissing, the sizzling. I could smell the burning meat, my cooked flesh. I could feel my skin melting and singeing into itself. I could feel the blisters forming, the ones that wouldn't go away for weeks.

And now they could see it too.

I made my way through the dancing couples in a stagger, not really trying to keep out of their ways but leaving it up to them to keep out of mine. I heard muttering, whispering, some things that should have been audible if I'd been able to listen.

Roy didn't notice me coming until I was already there, reaching out for his hand; that's how wrapped up he was in dancing with Hattie. He sucked at dancing, but with a girl like Hattie, any man would've looked good. He looked down at me, confused, too confused to realize he was supposed to be concerned.

"You done eating?" he asked.

I shook my head, because I wasn't. My cake was still half-eaten, waiting inside the bakery.

"Then get in line," Hattie cackled jokingly, swinging Roy back into the rhythm.

"Elisabeth doesn't want to dance with me," Roy said, laughing. "I'm terrible."

"We dance great together," Hattie said.

I wasn't even fazed by the blatant intent behind Hattie's flaunting. I just needed something steady to hold on to. I stepped forward until I'd gotten a hold of Roy's sleeve and didn't let go. Roy tripped in his step.

"What?" he asked, stabilizing and stabilizing Hattie with him.

"Roy, I…" I looked up at him, trying very hard to remember 'what.'

All I could think of, however, all I could see, was him and his happiness dissipating into concern, his black eyes going dark and focused, turning back into the eyes of a colonel.

And then the gorgeous woman was pulling him back into the dance with her. And his eyes were reverting back to meet hers.

I stepped forward, swerving onto my toes, grabbing a handful of Roy's collar and jerking him down until I had him to myself. Hattie wasn't in my sights anymore and I didn't remember to care. I didn't wait for Roy or myself to regain full balance. I just shifted into his arms and craned my neck up until I felt his breath on my cheek and then I kept going. I parted my lips slightly and pressed them onto his, leaning into him.

Holding on to him.

Roy was still.

My eyes dropped closed. I moved to undo my mouth from his. Something in my fogged-over mind told me it was time to stop, that I shouldn't have used my mouth for comfort. That the fire would go out on its own, with or without his help.

But he had his hand cupping the back of my neck and he was holding me there, countering me, leaning his lips back into mine. My sense of foreboding tapered away and I kept my eyes shut, kissing him deeply as he deepened his kisses as well.

The instinct to be held slowly wore off and all I could feel was shame and pleasure.

So.

That was what it felt like to kiss Roy Mustang.

I unlocked from his mouth and sank back onto my heels, opening my eyes and hugging onto him, trembling.

"I want to," I muttered, burying my face in his shoulder, "go home."

He placed a careful hand on my back and pulled me gently closer to steady me.

"Alright," he said. Then, speaking softly to me, "I'll get you home, Riza."


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: I'm going to comment on comments this time because things are getting exciting. I'm not commenting back on all of them (kind of goes w/o saying) because there are 46 of them in all and I just don't have that kind of stamina.

Curious: I just have to tell you how great it was for me to know I made you hungry with my pommes-frites stand. Dang, I could eat those lovelies for a living.

Lothmel: I'll totally give you more!

Iella: Yeah, you have a point (a good point). But then Riza wouldn't have grabbed Roy for an impulsive smooch in front of everyone and I liked writing that. Plus, that's more of the normal, rational Riza. I was going for more of a PTSD-Riza (I'll emphasize that in 23). PTSD kind of flips a person out. But I did sort of freak for a second when I read your comment, because it really was a good point. I have to seriously watch keeping everyone true to their characters. Thanks!

Hakimu: Thank you for your long review and for your sentiments on my writing. You make me sound like a pretty well-rounded writer and that's what I like to hear. I actually started off sticking to kind of a generic-Riza, but as the story went on, her character just kind of unfolded on its own. I always imagined her as a lot deeper than she made herself out to be and so it's been great getting to write from her thoughts and really delve into the hidden corners of her personality.

PhantomhiveHost: You're welcome! Haha

Mixmax300: Wow! I'm impressed you could read all of that in one go. I mean, I've got 165 pages going on Word. That's a lot of pages. I'm glad the story's worth it :D

Snakepool: As weird as it sounds, writing kisses is really complicated. It's like choreographing a moving puzzle. It's a fun challenge!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-three: Swapping Roles

"I'm alright," I said shakily as Roy carefully guided my steps up the path with an arm around my shoulders. "I don't want you to carry me."

Not even a harsh bout of PTSD would've been enough to make me forget how recently Roy had finally gained back his strength. Though, I'd easily found the grandiosity to believe I could make it to the house without help.

"Just say the word," he said for the fifth time since we'd left the center of town. "I'll do it."

"You'll strain yourself," I said, stumbling.

"And you're not strained at all?" he said, helping me pull back into my treacherous high-heeled strappy shoes as I tripped over myself. "You aren't yourself, Riza."

I trembled. The night had begun to cool the air and my shakiness was making me susceptible to it. I looked around. It was dark. Everything was black. I shifted my eyes but there was nothing to focus them on.

I heard myself breathing too quickly and realized I was panicking. Roy must have noticed as well, because he stopped walking and held me back from walking too.

He took my shoes off my feet for me and, hooking one of his arms beneath my shoulder blades and the other arm under the bend in my knees, he swung me up and cradled me as if I could have been as dainty as Camilla.

I let out a delayed startled half-squeal, my vocal cords stifled and smothered by my already disoriented state.

"Put me down," I gasped. "You're hurt."

"No," Roy said uncomfortably, walking forward at an even pace that was far more stable than the one we had been going at when I was still on foot. "You patched me up good, Doctor."

My head spun. It was so dark. My eyes didn't know which way to go. How could he even see the path with everything cloaked in black?

"I don't want to," I took an uneven breath, "stitch you up."

"My injuries closed weeks ago. You know that."

I was having trouble remembering what I did know. Letting myself think had suddenly become dangerous since the party. After the worst had happened, it had become too easy for my simplest thoughts to bleed into traumatic memories.

"It's fine, Riza," I heard him say. "You don't weigh much more than the groceries, anyway."

Roy's hold on me was firm and comforting, but he was walking with a slight rigidity that indicated that something was bothering him. I assumed it was me and my recent unorthodox method of getting his attention. My cheeks burned. Even disoriented I could still flush from shame.

"Did someone…" he said. "Did one of those guys at the party hurt you?"

"No."

It was a simple question with a simple answer. I didn't recognize any implications in his words.

He spoke again, this time a little more demanding. "You didn't take anything from anyone? I mean, this town's friendly, but men are men. It really was only a matter of time before one of them tried something with you. They were passing out bottles near where you were standing. Was it alcohol? It looked like cheap beer."

"I don't know."

I hadn't noticed any bottles.

"I'm going to not think for a while," I decided quietly. "Okay?"

Roy exhaled softly. I could feel his chest tensing against my arm like he was subduing an outburst.

"So, you didn't drink anything?" he asked.

I didn't speak, shuddering in his arms as an icy breeze blew past us and penetrated through my clothes and across my skin.

"Are you okay?" he asked, pausing.

I didn't know if I was okay.

"I want to go home," I said, holding onto his shirt because it was dark and I needed something to hold on to.

"Alright," he said. "Alright, we'll get there."

We made it to the house and he set me down on my bare feet so he could fumble around for his keys. He helped me inside because I was having trouble willing my feet to walk properly, and then he helped me onto the couch, sitting me down then sitting beside me. With the lights on, I could finally see his face. He looked stretched, scared.

"Please, Riza," he said, pulling my hair away from my eyes. "If someone drugged you, you might get sick. I need to know if I should be calling the doctor over."

"I had milk," I replied.

"Nothing else?" he said. "There were a lot of men watching you. Are you sure none of them…?"

I think I would have noticed if someone had forced a beer down my throat. I just assumed Roy knew that.

"They asked for my coat," I said.

Roy knit his brow. "Your coat?"

All of the sudden I felt my face smiling really hard and I tried to make it stop.

"They said it was a coat," I said. I shook my head, still smiling. "They called it a coat. It's just a sweater, Roy."

My voice came out sounding awed, like I was in wonder at what had occurred. I felt like I was listening to another person talking with my voice. I didn't know what was happening. I usually wasn't one to be fazed like this, but…

They'd seen the scars. I fingered the stitching in my sweater. No one was supposed to see the scars.

"I don't understand," Roy said urgently. "Do you need a doctor, Riza?"

I shook my head, because I realized I really didn't need a doctor. Now that we were out of the dark, the synthetic light around us suddenly seemed blindingly bright. I closed my eyes, covering over their lids with my hand. My palm pressed against my closed eyes, my fingers clutching my face, the nails digging into my temple.

I let out an unanticipated whimper, frightened of something that was too lingering to be specific. I'd felt like this before, in Ishbal, on the battlefield when I'd seen the flames shoot across the inner walls of the city. I could hear their screams, smell their bodies, and feel the warmth coming off them from a mile away. It was terrifying.

As far as the fire had been from me, I'd still feared it. With all the control the Colonel had over it, I still feared its untamable nature. I knew that even with a capable master set on containing the flames, fire would be wild when it wanted to be.

I knew the smell of burning flesh, the sounds, the crackling and sizzling, the taste of smoke laden with the steam of boiling blood choking my lungs. I knew it before I'd experienced it myself. I knew the screams before I had screamed. I wore their screams on my back.

"No one's safe," I said, holding my hand over my eyes.

"Riza," Roy said worriedly, taking my arm. "Riza, I think you need a doctor."

I yanked away from him, standing in a sudden lurch. I stumbled, taking my hand away from my eyes to look at him as he stood with me and held me up from swerving to the ground. I pulled away again.

"I'm not drugged," I said in rattled frustration.

I gripped the insides of my black sweater and pried it open without undoing the buttons first. Roy stepped forward again to help me, but I pivoted away, shrugging off the sweater and letting it drop onto the carpeted ground. He froze in his place, staring. And I knew what he was staring at.

I breathed quick and choppy breaths, trembling. I clutched my left shoulder.

"They took it off," I said, mortified. "I told them not to but they forced it off me and they…"

I trailed off, feeling a series of sobs coming up in my chest.

I looked away, shaking violently. "They saw what I looked like."

Roy froze. "Oh, God," was all he could say.

Big, dewy tears squeezed and burbled from my eyes, pouring off my face.

"They saw," I repeated, my voice breaking. "And I heard them gasping. And whispering. You were off dancing and I just wanted to go home."

"Riza," Roy said, his face tugging like he thought he should be crying too but he wasn't sure he wanted to yet.

"I just wanted to go home," I said in a near whisper.

My knees buckled under me and Roy was too wrapped up in the horror of the moment to catch me in time. He came to kneel with me. I held my hand over my mouth, desperate not to hear myself cry again. Roy touched my cheek tenderly, his tormented eyes searching to meet mine.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't see."

I sniffed, willing myself to calm down.

"No," I said, shattered. "You didn't see me but you saw her. You saw Hattie."

There it was. I'd finally decided to make it his fault.

Roy shook his head. "We were dancing. I got distracted."

"You noticed her," I said. "I wanted you to notice me."

"I notice you."

"No," I said, my voice near breaking again. "You don't. I asked you to notice me, just for tonight. I'm supposed to be your wife. You should've taken me home. I wasn't fit to get home on my own."

"Yeah," said Roy, his tone becoming defensive. "But you're not my wife. How am I supposed to know what I should and shouldn't be doing?"

I felt my face burning, realizing that this was all about to go horribly wrong and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I looked at him, meeting his nervous eyes.

Roy looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. "I'm sorry. The scars really aren't as bad as you think they are. I'm sure it'll just blow over."

I didn't really tell my arm to swing back and smack him across the face, but it felt really good to do it. I followed through, too. He nearly staggered sideways off his knees. I came to my feet, this time planted and steady.

"It'll blow over?" I said, my voice growing sharper.

Roy put his hand over his cheek, wincing like I'd punched him with brass knuckles. It bothered me to see him acting hurt after saying something like 'It'll blow over,' to me.

"It'll blow over for you and for them. But…" I clawed my shoulder. "Do you see me? Do you think this is going to go away? This is mine. This is what I have to look at. Maybe a man doesn't mind a few battle scars on him, but do you think this is pretty? On a woman, is there anything attractive about this? Because you called me pretty tonight. You let me kiss you. But when you kissed me back, you were holding me with my sweater over my back. Try kissing a girl with shoulders that feel like crepe paper. Tell me you'd see her the same way after that. Try calling me pretty now!" I panted heavy, furious breaths, clenching my fists hard at my sides. I reached to touch the gnarled scarlet across my shoulder. "Tell me this will blow over for you."

Roy looked at me with wide eyes, motionless, speechless. He wasn't even breathing; he was holding his breath. I never knew that he could look so uncomfortable, so completely shaken. My face burned. I felt tears trickling down again.

"I know," I said apologetically. "I'm sorry. I know."

I bent down and picked up my sweater and walked into the bathroom, locking myself inside. Roy didn't follow.


	24. Chapter 24

Lothmel: Heck yeah I made Roy jealous! Haha :P He's hot, but Riza's a babe. Can't have a bunch of girls tagging around Roy without putting a little in about Riza at least being noticed.

mixmax300: I'm completely writing on. :D

Iella: Dang! You make it sound intense (which it is). "His next step can change everything and define the future of the story..." It sounds completely like a line from a trailer. I'm excited and I'M writing it.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-four: A Nightmare

"Come on, Riza," Roy said, banging on the door for eighth time that night. "Please, I have to pee!"

I sat curled up against the sink where I'd been sitting for the past three hours. Slowly I'd gained some of my comprehension back, and now I just wanted to be alone. Roy and I had made plans for every possible scenario after defecting from the Amnestrian military, an extravagant list of solutions based on an extravagant list of problems bound to arise.

But PTSD hadn't been included on that list. Not for me.

Roy knocked again. "I really have to go. Thirty seconds and I'm out. I swear."

I contemplated standing up but I really didn't want to.

"Are you awake?" he asked urgently.

I huddled my face in my knees. He could pee in the bushes.

"Riza," he said, his incessant knocking coming to a stop. "You don't have to hide." I could hear him gulping like his throat was suddenly struggling to talk. "I think your back's sexy as hell. The scars just give you an exotic look. You show that much skin and I definitely notice you, okay?" He paused. "I'm just not allowed to say it because you think it's ugly and I'm the one who did it to you."

I stared at the door like I could have been staring right at him. 'Liar,' I thought. He had to be lying. He just needed to pee.

"I'll say it over again until I pee my pants if you won't believe me," he said.

In a gross way, he sounded kind of romantic.

I stood, pulling my sweater around my shoulders and buttoning it.

"Sorry," I said, unlocking the door. I stepped out, letting him barge through to slam it behind me. I muttered to myself, "Sorry I kissed you."

I fell asleep on the couch still in the red dress without even putting out my sheets and blanket. I'd looked forward to falling asleep because that entailed waking up and this was all shaping up into a horrible dream.

I'd lost it over something I'd been successfully keeping to myself for ten years; I'd gone about asking Roy for help, my former Colonel, by kissing him in the mouth in front of half of Clover Valley; I'd slurred through a bunch of stupid comments to him, half of which I barely remembered, then had a tearful outburst at him over something that wasn't even his fault; and then I'd locked him out of the one bathroom in the house for three hours until he'd resorted to calling my back sexy just to take a pee.

Happy Anniversary to me! I'd known two months would be too soon.

I bolted upright, gasping at the sound of a yell through the silence of my slumber. I propped myself up and leaned on the armrest behind me, catching my breath. I soon noticed that I was a little shaky and that my head hurt in a dull way. I remembered that I had cried. I remembered what had happened that night.

I let myself flop back onto the cushion. Given the fact that I'd been having a rough night with my old memories, it made sense that I might be woken up by the shrieking in my dreams. Though, I was surprised I'd been sleeping deep enough to dream at all. Usually I didn't start dreaming until just before my alarm went off for work, back when I had an alarm for work.

I was glad to have calmed down; at least there was that. I hadn't enjoyed being outside my limits of control. Apparently I was the only one between Roy and I who had been willing to talk me down. I supposed it was lucky for me that I'd always been too stubborn to ask for help when I was growing up; I'd been conditioned to picking up the pieces on my own.

I closed my eyes.

And then I opened them.

Roy's bedroom door creaked open and I could hear his bare feet padding across the hall at a slow, heavy pace. I pulled myself up just enough to see over the armrest. He staggered into the pitch-dark bathroom, not even bothering to swing the door shut behind him. I made a face. The idea of sleepwalking to the bathroom then peeing with the door open wasn't really my favorite image.

I felt bad for myself for a moment, remembering my shiny tiled bathroom at my old apartment; it had been all mine.

I heard the porcelain clink of the lid flipping up and I appreciated him for at least making that effort. Then I heard him coughing and then he was coughing heavy until it sounded like he wasn't breathing through it. I stood. I heard him finally take a breath and was relieved for a moment that he hadn't choked. But rather than exhaling, he used the breath to gag hard. I could hear the toilet bowl sloshing as he vomited into it.

I didn't even have to think about it. It was like when I'd kissed him; like instinct. Despite my reservations from before, my body knew I needed to be beside him. So that's where it took me.

It was dark in the bathroom, but it was dark everywhere and my eyes were already adjusted. I squatted beside him as he abandoned the toilet to lean his back against the tub. He coughed again, this time softer, like he was saying, 'ouch.'

"Too much cake?" I said, feeling like I was stating the obvious.

But he shook his head, wiping his mouth with his bare wrist. He leaned forward and flushed the toilet then leaned back again. I waited.

"Are you sick?" I asked.

"You can go back to bed," he replied. "I think that was probably it. Thanks, though."

I looked closer at him. He was usually such a baby when he got sick.

"Roy, what is it?"

"It's nothing," he said. "Just a dream."

"A dream?" I knelt closer to him. "A dream made you puke?"

"A bad dream."

Yes, because that justified everything.

I sighed, rubbing his arm soothingly without really thinking about it. "It's alright. You don't have to say." I looked over toward the open door like my subconscious was ready to form a plan of escape from the potentially uncomfortable situation. "I'm sorry about earlier. I lost my head. I think I've needed to lose it for a while, but I'm better now. I'm glad I got it over with."

"Don't," he said, his voice having a pleading edge to it. "Please don't say you're sorry. You have every right to be upset. You think your back's ugly because Flame Alchemy did it to you and Flame Alchemy does ugly things. It's my fault. I don't want you to apologize."

"Alright," I said. "But it's not your fault either. I'm sorry I blamed you. We're just humans getting in over our heads like humans do. So you can't say sorry either."

He nodded, bowing his head in exhaustion. "Alright. Doesn't mean I won't think it, though."

I patted his shoulder. "Want me to help you back to bed?"

"I'd rather just stay awake."

I wrinkled my brow. "Roy, you're beat."

"Too bad."

"Roy…"

"It was a really bad dream."

I blinked.

"So I really did hear someone screaming," I muttered.

"Sorry I woke you up," he said.

"You can't control nightmares," I said. "Anyway, I got to apologize in the dark. It's easier."

He let out a long breath.

"Riza," he said softly. "Would it be like a contradiction for a fire-alchemist to be uneasy around fire sometimes?"

"Everyone should have at least a healthy fear of it," I said like a nursery school teacher.

"I would've lit the candles," he said. "I would've lit up the room by now. But sometimes I see the flames and it's like I'm back there again."

He was trying to talk about it.

"Ishbal?" I asked, knowing the answer.

"I don't get nightmares like some of the other guys we went into the war with," he said. "I don't get them non-stop like they do; not like shellshock. But sometimes I'll have a dream that hits too close to home. No more than one in a couple months lately. It's not really a problem. Just happens."

"I guess that makes sense," I said, touching my chin. "Ishbal's definitely something worth vomiting over. I've done it plenty of times."

Roy smiled faintly. "You're great."

I tried to smile back, wondering if I was great because I was so great at comforting him or if I was great because I was so great at sounding ridiculous enough to make him smile.

"It was a kid, by the way," he said. "Usually I burn whole families and houses down, but for some reason it was just a little kid this time. I couldn't see her too well—she was burning up so fast—but I could hear her screaming for me to stop and that was enough to make me vomit straight out of bed. So…you asked."

"I'm sorry," I said. "That you had to go through that again. This should be over for you."

"As long as Flame Alchemy is on the market, this will never be over," he said gravely. "You said it earlier tonight. No one's safe."

"We'll figure it out."

"You're bluffing."

I shrugged. "Guess so, but it keeps morale up." I sighed wearily. "I think I've been bluffing about a lot of things."

Roy shifted his gaze onto me. "That so?"

I nodded.

Roy looked lost. The shadows on his face were silvery, his eyes visibly narrow behind their lids. He looked like he wanted this to be a nightmare too. Fleeing Central, hiding out in the middle of nowhere. Now we were sitting on the bathroom floor together trying to get through the night after we'd finally realized that neither of us was over Ishbal; not in the slightest.

I'd promised to protect him. I knew that if I ever slipped, he'd be there to protect me and we'd just trade off like that. Between the two of us, one of us would always be strong. I thought we took turns like rotating the lookout position during a stake out and that's why we survived.

Roy and I had worked out all our issues on Ishbal some time ago. We'd made peace with it. We'd spent two years leading a government project to rebuild it. It had been a decade and we'd grown thicker skins with every year.

And yet the two of us were still so broken over it.

Roy and I were pathetic. Suddenly I understood. We hadn't survived because we'd taken turns being strong. I'd been a fool for thinking otherwise. Taking turns implied strength and weakness not coming in pairs. We knew how to help one another, as broken as we were. We made each other strong.

I gave him a purposeful look, taking his hand to hold his attention. He looked at me and I could just make out the lines of his expression. He was intrigued; exhausted, but excited nonetheless, like he wanted me to say what I had to say.

"Roy Mustang," I said, squeezing his hand. "Thank you for being broken."

He chuckled, his hand squeezing back a touch harder. "Any time," said Roy. "Not too much pressure involved in being pathetic." His smile slackened and he stared blankly at the wall. "Thanks for being broken with me, Riza."

I released him, hyperaware of his warm hand as he said my name. "If you're afraid to fall asleep, I can try to keep you up."

Roy gave me a skeptical brow-raise. "You're not going to tell me to try to get some sleep anyway?"

"That would be cruel," I said. "I don't expect you to suck it up and go back to bed like you didn't just puke from a nightmare."

"Want to tuck me in?"

"What?"

"I think I'm about to fall asleep in spite of myself," he said. "You really wore me out tonight. Don't apologize. A lot of it was actually pretty great."

"Really?" I asked, my face turning hot.

He grinned, turning to meet my eyes. "Sure. You know that."

What exactly was it that I knew? It was a fair guess to say that I'd been potentially the worst date Roy had ever had. Something about his grin made me think of his comment about my back being sexy. Goofiness met sincerity.

"I forgive you," I said. "I forgave you a long time ago. I was just upset tonight. So, no worries."

I felt the warmth of his arm snake around my shoulders in a loose hug, lingering. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his breathing growing slower. I took a chance at leaning back with him. The side of his body was warm on my arm.

He spoke. "You wore that orange dress to the dance your last year in high school. I saw you before you took off with that preppy guy with the nice car. I was surprised Master Hawkeye let you out like that."

"His eyes had already gotten bad by then, I think. Probably didn't see me all the way."

"Yeah," Roy laughed. "Probably didn't take a good enough look at your date either."

"Bobby was a nice guy," I said defensively.

"He definitely liked you."

I laughed. "Sure."

"You were great," said Roy. "A few new scars don't change anything. I'd still do a double-take if I saw you in that orange dress again."

I felt pink on the inside.

"Thanks," I said. I swallowed, glancing at him then averting my gaze back at the wall. "Sometimes I feel like people forget I'm female. Probably because they know I can kick their ass."

I giggled into my hand and Roy chuckled with me because it was a proven theory.

"I never forgot," he said, still grinning faintly.

He yawned loudly, his mouth widening then falling shut. I wondered if I should rouse him to get him back to his bed before he fell completely asleep.

"You idiot," he sighed, closing his eyes. "No one ever forgot."

His arm got heavy on my shoulders. I turned my head to look at him and saw that he had gone limp and his breathing was deep and slow; he was conked. I thought about waking him up, but decided it might be better to just let him sleep while he could. Nightmares were bad, but stumbling into insomnia was worse. We'd both been there before. I let him sleep. And I let myself fall asleep next to him.


	25. Chapter 25

Author's Note: I like this chapter.

mixmax300: Yeah, I love writing about closure and stuff. Thanks!

Lothmel: Yeah, I don't like putting those two at odds for too long. It seems kind of out of character for them, even if the circumstances are kind of intense.

Iella: Yes, you've more or less got it right. I felt like it would be interesting to have Roy debilitated for a while because, to me, Riza always seemed as capable as a leader as she was as a follower in the series. But Roy's getting back on his feet. He's not going to stay too passive for too long. The two are just kind of in a stalemate in life right now.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-five: Unorthodox.

I squirmed, wincing as the jutting bone of my hip knocked hard against the tile floor. I mouthed, "Dammit," and rolled onto my back, shuddering at the coolness of the tile against my bare calves. My eyes opened slowly and looked up at the ceiling. The bathroom was dim. It had no windows and the daylight from the sitting room didn't reach it to a stellar degree. It was depressing, waking up in near darkness. I was used to being woken up by irritating rays of sun shooting out through the gaps in the curtains above my sofa.

I let out a gasp.

"Can I have my arm back now?" Roy said smugly.

My head was resting on something warm and firm, slightly malleable, covered in cotton fabric. I glanced into my peripheral and realized it was Roy's bicep in a green t-shirt. I pushed myself up, smoothing the skirt of last night's red dress flat over my thighs before standing fully. My knees swerved a little.

"Ouch," Roy said, massaging his arm tenderly, still lying flat on his back. "I think you just about cut off my circulation."

I leaned my face into my palm drowsily. "Shake it off."

I watched his smile from between my fingers.

"You want coffee?" he asked.

I nodded, my face pulling my hand up and down with it.

"Real coffee," I said. "None of your instant crap."

Roy stood, still holding his arm.

"No need to get personal," he said playfully.

He was way too chipper for having just woken up. He gave me a tiny nudge as he passed me. I shut the door behind him and took a bath without waiting for the water to get hot.

I came out with my hair still dripping like always. I sat down across from him and he passed me a plate of burnt toast. The bath had woken me up enough for me not to curse at him. I even ate it without scraping off the charred stuff first.

"So," I said. "It's about nine. Heard anything from Howard?"

Roy looked up from buttering his toast. "I hadn't thought about it."

I set my toast down, wiping my mouth. I was tempted to ask Roy if he was sick or something, but I figured it might be best to keep quiet about it.

"Can I have my coffee?" I asked, looking over at the empty pot.

Roy passed me a steaming mug; fresh and black, just the way it should have been. I took a scalding sip.

Quickly spitting it back into the mug.

"You used instant!" I said, appalled.

"You shouldn't wear stuff like that," he said, gesturing to me.

I set down my mug and pulled at my stained t-shirt and ripped shorts. I frowned at his bluntness. He wasn't exactly a fashion guru; since when did he have room to judge?

I met his eyes bitterly. "What, do I look like a frump?"

"No," he said.

I waited.

He took a bite of toast.

"What's wrong with how I dress?" I asked. "Too masculine?"

That was a trick question. My outfit really was completely shapeless today, no matter how you looked at it.

"No," he said.

I waited.

He took another bite of toast.

"Then what?" I asked.

He looked me up and down about two and a half times before he met my eyes.

"The fact that you look good in them," he said, his mouth partially full.

"You lost me."

He swallowed. "They're supposed to be ugly work clothes. You're not supposed to look good in them."

I knit my brow. "What?"

"You're defying their purpose."

"You want me to stop wearing comfy stuff," I said, "because I look good?"

Roy looked away for a moment, wrinkling his brow like he'd just made some kind of technical error. I stared at him inquisitively, realizing that he had more color to his face than he had had in a while; not since before he'd lost all that blood after the shooting. I looked harder. Was he blushing?

"I didn't say that right," he said.

I shook my head, standing. "Doesn't matter. I can change."

"No," he said thinly. "I figured it out. Just wear what you want to wear."

I sat back down. I stood back up again, taking my mug to the sink.

"Roy," I said. "Do you make me bad coffee to test my loyalty?"

"It's not that bad," he said.

"It tastes like bile."

Roy grimaced, his skin turning sallow. He pushed aside his mug.

"Sorry," I said, shrinking. "Didn't really think that comment through."

He'd only puked a matter of hours ago. Comparing his coffee to stomach acid was bad enough, but comparing the two so soon after his firsthand encounter was mean.

"You're right," he said. "It does taste like it."

He lifted his head and smiled to himself, breaking into a chuckle.

"What?" I asked, rinsing my mug out in the sink.

"You," he said. "In the morning."

"When I'm more or less a savage?"

"When you let your hair down," he said.

I looked as my dripping blonde mess.

"You mean loosen up, right?" I asked.

He laughed harder. "See? You're always worrying and it gets worse until you go to bed. Then you wake up and it's like you're reset. It's so much better like this."

"Like when we were in high school," I said, setting my mug at the edge of the sink to dry.

Roy paused, staring at me. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

His face started going rosy again. It made me uneasy to think Roy Mustang was even capable of blushing. But I felt empowered thinking that something about me was capable of making him that uncomfortable.

He was still staring. I realized that I was chewing my bottom lip through my musing and stopped. He looked away instantly.

"Do you want me to take your plate?" he asked with an awkward cough.

I came to sit across from him again.

I smiled. "Not done."

He nodded, taking his own empty, crumb-coated plate.

"Something bothering you?" I asked.

"I wouldn't say that," he replied with his back to me.

"Can I help?"

He set his plate on the counter. He was silent for a moment. He turned to face me, locking his gaze. He walked slowly back to the table and sat with me. He sat straight like he was a colonel at his desk.

"Why'd you kiss me?" he asked.

My face burned before I could even decipher the question. I broke eye contact, instinctively covering my mouth with my hand as if to hide the evidence.

"I needed to get your attention," I said.

That'd been my excuse since before I'd even done it. Roy leaned back a little like he was contemplating leaving the table.

"Well," he said, flushing visibly now. "You got my attention."

"Yes," I said, my hand still hovering over my lips. "Effective."

He smiled awkwardly. "I'm not sure I'd want any of my other subordinates getting my attention like that."

I took my hand off my mouth. "I'm not your subordinate. Last night wasn't a military operation."

I felt like he'd tread on a tender subject that I couldn't quite place.

"I know, Riza."

"I needed you. That's all."

He sank in his seat a little. "Alright."

I gnawed off a mouthful of toast and chewed it like a cannibal.

"Sorry," he said, standing.

"Why?" I asked, swallowing.

It wasn't that I thought he didn't have any reason. I just wanted to know what it was.

"I wanted to know if we were on the same page," he said, turning away. "I'm going to go brush the bile-coffee out of my mouth."

My heart thumped.

"What page?" I asked.

He stopped, his back to me. His arms hung at his sides and his fingers were twitching like there was something they wanted to grab onto.

He sighed. "I didn't say that right."

"No," I said, standing. "What page, Roy?"

His body shuddered. He turned his head to look at me. His face was almost pink.

"Don't worry about it," he said, forcing a strained smile.

I took a few steps until I was standing within a foot of him. I craned my head up until my neck hurt so I could look him in the eyes. I felt short and I liked it.

"What page are you on?" I said.

He balled his hands into loose fists as if to restrain them. I looked down at them and couldn't help but feel that they should've been grabbing me instead.

"Just drop it, Riza," he said. "It's nothing."

I licked the burnt crumbs off my lip. His hands wanted to grab me. That's what they wanted.

"Do you want to do it again?" I asked.

No pause.

Roy stepped forward, closing the gap between us. "Yes," he said.

"We're on the same page."

I grabbed a handful of his shirt. He hooked his arm around my waist and pressed me against him, holding me there as I twined my arms around his neck and pushed up on tiptoe to reach his mouth. He met me halfway and I hung on like I was dangling from a cliff. Unlike the impulsive kiss from the previous night, this one was done as a team.

We stayed forehead to forehead when we came up for air, our noses brushing as we breathed.

"You know we would've done this before," Roy said, touching my waist lightly and sliding his fingers across the small of my back until he had me. "If it weren't for regulations."

"Screw military code," I said, meeting his mouth again.

We laughed against each other.

"When I found out you'd joined up," he said, laughing, "I could've murdered you for not staying an eligible civilian."

I grinned against his shoulder. "I'm not one to wait around."

He laughed, pulling me gently closer so we were in more of a hug.

"No," he said. "You're not."

I nuzzled against his warm body and he leaned his head to kiss the top of my damp hair. I ran my hand up his neck and slid my fingers through his black mop. He chuckled into my hair. He usually didn't like people messing with his hair.

A boy I'd liked in early high school had once come to my house to study and had given Roy a hard time about his generic haircut. Such a simple cut and yet Roy still managed to wear it shaggy. Roy invited the boy to leave in very graphic and explicit terminology. Of course, with Roy two years older and six steady inches taller, my study buddy took the invitation.

I'd gotten angry with Roy and told him scaring off my friends for the sake of his pride was childish. Roy replied quite rationally that every man had the right to be childish about something. Roy's something at the time had been his bad haircut. I giggled to myself, remembering how mature I had thought Roy had sounded just talking about his sore spot for his hair.

Roy trailed his index finger along the line across my throat, pushing aside my hair so he could kiss the side of my neck where the scar ended. I twisted my head and leaned my forehead into his shoulder.

"Roy," I said softly.

"Yes?" he said.

I closed my eyes, feeling his breath falling on my cheek with every deep exhale.

"Ask me to marry you," I said.

He was silent, motionless against me. I could feel his heart bump-bumping where the two of us had come chest to chest. I wondered if he could feel mine and I wondered if I even wanted him to.

"Are you going to say yes?" he asked.

I slackened my hold on him. "Would you get on one knee?"

I felt him vibrate through a silent laugh. He released my body, taking a half-step back, finding my hands and folding his fingers around them. In a single movement, like he'd practiced for it and he didn't even have to think twice about it, he buckled his knees and knelt before me in his dark green pajamas.

"Alright, Riza Hawkeye," he said. "Ready to become Riza Mustang?"

He met my eyes and I felt his gaze not just as penetrating but almost like a magnifying glass, like he was seeing all of me, every insignificant bit of me. The bits with the unwashed hair and sleep-drool, the bits with cooking breakfast for all three meals of the day, the bits with comparing his coffee to vomit, the bits with micromanaging his life, the bits with emotional breakdowns for things he didn't even know he was doing, and even the bits with the sexy burned back and ugly t-shirts that I managed to look good in.

I laughed, squeezing his hands. "You didn't even tell me you loved me."

He raised an eyebrow. "That was implied."

His eyes were black as ever but there was new life rooted in them now, life I hadn't seen in a long time. I knew that he'd once looked at the world with the same hope he was now focusing toward me. It was thrilling to think that he could see me as his world.

Roy held my gaze, using his thumbs to play with my fingers.

"I love you, Riza," he said. "I would've been happy just to have had you as my first lieutenant until death did us part." His mouth spread into a smile until he was grinning. "But I'd be much happier if you married me."

Instead of waiting for him to stand, I jumped ahead in the rules and knelt with him so we were eye to eye. He looked a little confused as I pulled his hands into my lap like I was winning a game of tug-of-war.

"Yes," I said, gazing down at my hands enveloped in his strong grasp. "Yes."

"Yes?" he said, pulling a hand away to tilt my chin so I'd meet his eyes.

Tilting the angle of my face was like tilting a pitcher. My eyes welled up enough to brim a couple of gentle tears; not much, but noticeable.

I sniffed. "Yeah."

Roy touched my face, smearing a teardrop to the side.

"What?" he said. "You mean you're not even going to tell me you love me?"

I pulled his hand from my face and brought it to my lips to kiss its knuckles.

"I love you, Lieutenant-Colonel Mustang." I raised my right hand to my forehead like a visor, making a sloppy attempt at a salute. "I'll marry you. Sir."


	26. Chapter 26

Author's Note: IMPORTANT - This chapter includes a bit of sensuality (more than just kissing). Nothing graphic or within the actual act. Nothing beyond the rating or beyond the language/violence content already shown in the story. But I did want to give you some warning in case you're sensative to that sort of thing. Otherwise, enjoy!

Hakimu: Why yes, it did escalate quickly. I love jolts in the plot!

verry-chan: Your comment made me smile. I'll admit it was hard for me to figure out how a proposal between them would play out. I spent a few day's puzzling it out before I finally came up with what you got. I thought if there was ever reason for Roy to blush, it was this.

mixmax300: I really love how everyone's saying "didn't see it coming...but great job!" The first part freaks me out like you wouldn't believe, because writing something unexpected and writing something out-of-place or too soon in the plot are two very different things. I'm so relieved that I seem to be the former in this case so far. The "great job" bit saves me. Thanks!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-six: Riza's Ravenous Revenge on the Dreaded Benton

Roy tugged my arm gently out of its salute and kissed my cheek.

"At ease," he said. "What the hell are we supposed to do now?"

I stared at him blankly, both of us still kneeling with one another, eye to eye. Roy shrugged.

"We are married," he said.

"Elisabeth and James are married," I corrected. "Not Riza and Roy."

Roy laughed like it wasn't funny. "Yeah, and that makes a difference."

I frowned, standing. "It does."

Roy came to stand with me. "Maybe for us it does," he said, rubbing my arm soothingly. "I think the citizens of Clover Valley might get a little confused if they saw us walking down the aisle together."

I sighed, bowing my head in discouragement. He had a point.

"I guess weddings are overrated, anyway," I said.

Nope, not really.

Roy sighed, looking up at the ceiling in defeat.

"We're already living like a couple," he said. "The only change they'll get to see is a little PDA." He smirked at me. "Like what they saw last night."

I let my eyes roll.

"So, that's how we get each other's attention now?" I asked.

Roy laughed. "That's how Hughes liked to get Gracia's."

"Does this mean I have to learn how to cook?" I asked.

"Only if I have to learn how to make real coffee," Roy said smoothly.

I was about to shove him because he wasn't an invalid anymore and I was allowed to do that now. But someone was knocking at the door pretty urgently, so it sounded. I looked over at the door and Roy looked with me. We were both thinking the same thing; would it really be so bad not to answer it? As if in answer, the rapping intensified, grating my nerves and setting my teeth on edge. That door was desperate to be answered.

"I'll get it," Roy said, irritated in his defeat.

"No," I said. "You're in your pajamas."

"You look like you're in your pajamas."

I did shove him this time. He faked a pathetic whimper. The knocking at the door drowned him out.

"It's probably Howard with the paper," I said, hurrying to confiscate the door from the knocker. "Go shave before you start being a baby about your prickles."

"Baby?" Roy laughed, turning into the bathroom. He called out, "Says the woman who shaves her legs in the winter."

I opened the door wondering how he knew about that.

"Oh, Lizzy!" Mrs. Benton cried.

Only Roy called me Lizzy. Even for a pseudonym, the nickname was still pretty personal.

"Mrs. Benton," I said loudly, trying to resonate enough for Roy to hear. "Good morning."

She was clinging to a dish, a big green casserole dish. I gulped.

"You poor thing," she said, giving me a disgruntled gaze. "All this time you've been taking care of Jim and you never told anyone you were sick as well. Please; me and the other women talked it over before you left and we'd be happy to take care of you and cook all your meals until the rash is gone."

"The rash," I said quietly to myself. "Great." I met her eyes. "I appreciate your willingness to help, but it really isn't necessary. My husband takes good care of me. He'll ask for your help if he needs it."

Mrs. Benton laughed like I'd told a joke. She thrust the casserole into my arms. I was really tempted to just let it fall out of them.

"You shouldn't be in the kitchen," she said. "At least we can help you with that."

"James is actually a better cook than I am."

She stared at me like I was crazy, like she wasn't sure she should be laughing anymore, God forbid I was serious.

I could hear the floorboards creak behind me. Roy came up from behind and snaked his arms around my waist, resting his nose on the top of my head. Benton smiled extravagantly, probably ecstatic at the novelty of seeing James Brown still in his pajamas.

"Good morning, Jim," she said. "I brought dinner."

He didn't even look at her. It was like he'd found me standing in the doorway alone. He hugged me closer, speaking into my hair.

"I'm getting impatient, babe."

My face got warm but I was sure Mrs. Benton was blushing darker. I reached back to touch Roy's face.

"I thought I told you to shave first," I said.

Mrs. Benton stood there, probably waiting to find out what Roy was getting so impatient about.

"Do you mind, neighbor?" Roy asked, his eyes still on me and not her. "Shouldn't be more than ten minutes."

My face was hot now. Benton looked jealous in the most concentrated form, her face like a squished beet. I doubted her husband the cello-playing garden-enthusiast was often as frank as Roy was being.

"Of course," she said, smiling like she was a part of things.

"I wouldn't wait up," I said, turning to push Roy inside purposefully with the casserole dish. "Thanks for the visit, Mrs. Benton."

I shut the door before she could say a proper farewell. I dumped the casserole in the trash first thing in. Roy and I waited sixty seconds for her to get down the road some before we let ourselves laugh.

"Oh, jeez!" Roy said, sinking to his knees. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

I cackled into my hand, leaning on his kneeling body with the backs of my legs.

"Yeah, well me too," I said. "You should've just done it. I mean, I've never seen her look so jealous."

Roy fought to catch his breath through the laughter.

"I think she thought she stood a chance," he said. "Against you!"

"Against me," I sighed.

"Well, who the hell else would I promise the rest of my life to?"

"You have a point, Roy."

He stood back up and leaned on me just enough to make me lean on him to counter it, forcing me to snuggle into him. His tactics were impressive.

"Love you, Roy," I said.

"You too."

He put his arm around me and smiled deviously.

I wrinkled my brow. "What?"

"I have an idea," he said, "for our wedding."

"I'm listening."

"You're going to like it."

"So, tell me."

He let go of me and came to stand face to face, taking my shoulder like he was about to give me an award.

He grinned. "I'm going to show you off."

I raised my eyebrows skeptically. "Show me off?"

"Come on," he said. "You showed me off to that scary casserole lady. We've been in this town for two months and no one's seen us act like a couple until last night when you 'got my attention.' Let me show them you're mine, huh?"

I nodded severely. "Permission to show you off too."

"Permission granted."

"Go shave."

"Yeah. Okay."

We went ring-shopping. Our excuse was that Roy's injuries from his 'accident' had left us in a financial standstill and now that he was recovered we felt safe to actually purchase a couple of wedding bands. I told Roy ahead of time that I didn't want anything flashy. I'd withdrawn substantial chunks out of both our savings from pit-stop to pit-stop on our way to Clover Valley, so money really wasn't an issue. But diamonds were suspicious for a couple who claimed to have just come out of a tight budget.

Roy managed to find something that would stand out anyway.

"What about this one?" he asked me, pointing to a delicate golden band with a grain of amber mounted at the top.

"Looks like a spark," I said, lifting my hand as an example and snapping my fingers once.

"It's so much better than that silver one," he moped.

That 'silver one' happened to be a matching set; one for me, one for him, in different sizes. It was plain, literally a simple band of silver.

The one Roy had just found looked like it belonged to a girl who played the piano, like her fingers were meant to dance with it. I sighed in defeat.

"It's better than anything we could have picked out in Central," I said. "I love it."

"It's yours."

Roy looked delighted to be allowed to buy me something that wasn't boring. He got a plain golden band to match and we left them at the store to be fitted. On the way out he admitted that he preferred gold to silver and that he was glad I went with a golden ring because he would have had to match whatever I picked.

"I wasn't going to say anything," he said. "But I did have a bias."

"It's not all about me," I replied. "We wouldn't want you to be stuck wearing silver on your hand until death."

We got out of the jewelry shop in time to catch the end of the morning market. At Roy's request, I'd changed into some of what he called 'jealous-making' clothes; a baby-pink, V-necked three-quarter top that clung like a second skin and a leggy cotton skirt I usually only wore around the house when I was hot. I hadn't shown so much skin in public since high school when my father wasn't looking. I felt like such a little slut, but I was married so I got away with it.

"This place," Roy said, leading me to the fish market. "Right over there."

"You mean the stall with the salmon?"

"The stall with the kid."

I looked past the half-priced salmon fillets and met eyes with Harry, my regular vendor. He was nineteen years old, so not exactly a kid, but he had a doughy face still and eyes like blue saucers, so it was easy to catch myself mothering him sometimes. He smiled over at me and waved a gangly arm.

"Great prices today, Mrs. Brown," he called.

"What, you don't mean Harry," I whispered, turning to Roy. "Sweet little Harry the fish vendor?"

"Sweet little Harry's been imagining you naked for the past two weeks," said Roy, glowering at my favorite fish vendor.

I shook my head stubbornly. "No, he's such a cutie. He's shy."

"I know it when I see it," said Roy. "Even shy cuties have hormones. Every time you walk past this place I want to robe you up like a nun."

"Why'd you tell me to dress like this again?" I asked, glancing down at the bare legs and cleavage.

"You'll see."

We approached Harry's booth and Roy pulled me forward. I met Harry's big blue eyes and we exchanged a smile. I tried very hard not to take anything Roy had said to heart. Harry was one of my favorite people in Clover Valley. It seemed unfair to think that he'd been checking me out all this time.

"What'll it be today, Mrs. Brown," Harry asked, disregarding Roy entirely.

I told myself he was only addressing me because he was more familiar with me. I tried to ignore the flush in his face and the mild shift in his gaze.

"Well," I said. "I'm not entirely sure just yet."

I hadn't planned on making anything with fish. Fish was labor intensive. I didn't want to be left exhausted after dinner tonight. Roy stood at my side like a concrete pole, silent and expressionless. The only thing that moved was his eyes. He was watching Harry.

Harry cleared his throat. "You can take your time. Business gets slow this late in the day. That's why I always put things half-price after ten. You're really smart to come now. You always come at the right times, Mrs. Brown."

"Thank you, Harry."

He said it like I'd figured out something extremely complicated. I was used to Harry speaking to me with polite admiration. Now I was beginning to wonder if this was his sad attempt at hitting on me. I looked at the selection and pretended to browse, waiting for Roy to step in.

"We've got some in the tank," Harry said, beckoning me to the large glass fish tank on the ground. "Super fresh."

I gazed down at the scaly pale cod flopping back and forth through the water. There were seven crammed into the tank together almost inhumanely. I knew they were only there for food, but I was tempted to buy a few just to give the others some space to swim.

"Take a closer look?" asked Harry, gesturing me to come closer.

I bent my knees slightly, putting my hands on my thighs and leaning over the tank to give the poor fishes a look of comfort. Poor soulless babies.

I was getting maternal off of fish.

"Watch it, kid," Roy said, coming to stand beside me. "Try keeping your eyes up."

I straightened, first looking at Roy's stone-faced expression of contentment then looking at Harry's flushed expression of terror. I pulled the top of my shirt up a little.

"Another time," I said, twitching into a strained smile.

Roy took my hand and guided me away. We turned a corner and he laughed into his hand.

"Damn, that felt good," he said.

I put a hand on my hip. "You were trying to pick a fight. You let me bend over so you could give him a hard time for looking down my shirt."

I felt used.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I needed a solid reason to call him out on it. He watches you, but he's been so wishy-washy. I needed a solid reason to scare him with my 'Flame Alchemist means business' voice."

Well, that sounded at least a little sweet.

"Thanks for not knocking him out," I said. "I mean, it would have been kind of cool if you were that jealous, but it would've been bad for us if he pressed assault charges. So thanks."

"Yeah," Roy said, looking up. "There's always the dark alley at night."

I giggled in spite of myself. I privately felt kind of sorry for Harry for having an awkward crush on a married woman with a scary husband. But then again, the idea of Roy pouncing on the poor kid in a dark alley for the sake of my honor was pretty much hilarious.

"So," said Roy. "Your turn."

I looked around the bare streets, puzzling over my next victim. I smiled devilishly.

"Hattie," I said, linking arms with Roy.

"Hattie?" he laughed. "You serious? She's just a ditzy barmaid."

"She thought she saw some kissing last night," I said, smiling to myself. "She hasn't seen anything. Do you think it's possible to die of jealousy?"

Roy held my arm tighter. "It's unsettling how your sadistic demon-voice turns me on."

"This is so much better than a chapel and a white dress," I said.

"Less expensive, too."

We spent so much time out terrorizing one another's shameless suitors that we didn't get back in until it was time to start dinner. I'd bought some bib-lettuce and oil and vinegar the day before for a salad, so I made that up with some hardboiled eggs on the side for protein.

Roy held an egg up as exhibit A. "Eggs?"

"Hardboiled doesn't count as breakfast," I said, crackling the shell of my egg on the edge of the table. "We had frites for lunch. I don't have to make you a feast for dinner."

Roy sat back, denting his own shell. "But eggs?"

"You want to just have salad?"

Roy smiled.

"What?" I said.

"You're just great," he said.

I chipped the pieces of shell away and let them drop onto my napkin.

"What's so great about me?" I asked. "You always say that. What does that even mean?"

Roy looked away for a moment then met my eyes and shrugged.

"I guess it means I love you," he said simply. "I guess that's what I must have been saying."

"You guess?" I said. "Like you had no idea?"

"I knew I loved you, Riza. I just didn't realize I was being so obvious about it."

"If you really loved me," I said with a smirk, "you'd eat your egg and be glad we're not having Mrs. Benton's casserole."

Roy shucked the last of the eggshell off his egg and popped the whole thing in his mouth like a candy.

"So glad," he said in the midst of chewing.

We got ready for bed at the same time, which was strange for us. Usually we took shifts with the bathroom, but tonight our bedtime would be the same so we brushed our teeth together. Having a toothbrush in my mouth was a great excuse for not talking.

I spat down the drain, holding my hair back so it wouldn't fall in the sink. Roy rinsed off his brush and put it by the hot water knob. I rinsed mine and set it by the cold water knob. Roy gave a look, his face drained and unsettled. He noticed me staring and instantly forced a nervous smile.

"I don't want you sleeping on the couch anymore," he said. "Understood?"

I folded my arms and nodded. "Sir."

I suddenly felt like folding my arms had been a bad choice and I wondered how I could unfold them without making it obvious. I decided I was being stupid and just let them fall at my sides. This shouldn't have been difficult and we both knew it, but somehow the novelty of not having a real wedding ceremony had thrown us off, like we were mixed up about the steps.

Roy took my hand lightly in his as if to give me the option to break away at any time. I laced my fingers with his and held tight. He tightened his grip with me, his breathing becoming gentler like he was relieved about something.

"Alright, Mrs. Mustang," he said. "I'm going to make love with you now."

He jerked me into his arms and lifted me, startling me into a squeaky giggle on the way up. I swung my arms around his neck and held onto him tenderly as if to tell him he was doing a good job.

"Love you," I said, kissing his pale cheek.

Roy stopped at the bedroom doorway and turned his face to catch my lips. We parted.

"You too," he said.

He bumped the door open and carried me in backward, turning to face the bed as he walked. He'd made it up for us earlier after his bath that morning with the pillows evenly distributed on each side rather than all stacked and strewn about the spot where he usually slept. He set me down at the foot of the bed and sat beside me.

"I, Roy, take thee, Riza," he said, putting his hand on mine.

"And I, Riza, take you, Roy."

It felt better just to have it said, even if we weren't saying it to a priest.

"For better or worse," he said. "Until death do us part."

"To the very end."

"Sounds good to me."

We came together, meeting in the middle to share a soft kiss, gentle and slow. He rubbed his palm up my arm, slipping his thumb under my collar and easing it away from my shoulder to lean head down and kiss the bare skin above my collarbone. Chilled bumps rose where his lips touched.

I closed my eyes, sensing his position by the warm breath blowing gently from his parted lips. He was breathing on my neck now, his soft lips just slightly touching my skin before moving on to my shoulder. I became dully aware that I should have been doing something too, but he was doing so well on his own. I didn't want him to stop. His hand shifted onto the small of my back, pushing up on my shirt until the cool air of the room hit its exposure like a smack.

I inhaled sharply through my nose. He had to have his eyes open now. I was sure of it. He had to have been staring at his handiwork.

"Let's douse the candles," I said faintly.

He lifted his lips from under my jaw. "I want to look at you."

He ran his hand up my spine, pushing it under my bunched shirt to touch my shoulder. I breathed deep as his fingertips pressed lightly along the bare surface of my back, tracing the textured surface of disfigured scar tissue. I trembled.

He relaxed his arm, repositioning it to touch my cheek, tilting my flushed face until his mouth had almost met mine.

"Love you," he spoke into my lips.

He held me there, interlocking, leading me in flexing our mouths together like we were dancing. I kissed his bottom lip, tugging it gently before releasing the tension and coming back to kiss him again.

I parted prematurely, putting my arms up for him. Roy lifted my shirt the rest of the way over my head and let it drop onto the ground. He pushed my hair off the back of my neck and let it fall over the top of his hand, lacing strands between his fingers.

He held my body against him, pressing me in his arms with one hand gripping my shoulder and the other feeling along the rough skin of my scarred back. I stiffened and undid my lips, our mouths parting with a gentle suck.

"Are you alright?" Roy said.

I latched onto his half-buttoned shirt so it would seem like I had a purpose for drawing away, sliding my hand down to the next buttonhole to undo it. Roy rested his hand on top of mine, sending our fingers down the seam to unhook his shirt together.

"Will you let me hold you now?" he asked, easily sensing that I'd shied from him.

I blinked slowly, eyeing the seven sealed craters in Roy's flesh, dappled across his chest and stomach, revealed as his shirt parted from him. I leaned in for a better look, touching them lightly, one by one, and soon found my forehead leaning against his chin. He tilted his head down until his lips met the top of my head and he kissed my hair.

I closed my eyes again, resting my arms tight around his neck and curling into his embrace. I nuzzled my head against his shoulder, shaking.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, not able to speak much louder. "I wish I could look more like Elisabeth Smith tonight."

Roy was still, more shocked than at peace. He breathed deep, hugging me, pressing my head under his chin and stroking my face.

"You like the scar on your throat, Riza. But, this one," he said, rubbing my back with his palm, "is my favourite."

I shivered. Roy clung tighter to me and I held tighter to him.

"When I see your back," he said, "I think of how you trusted me, how you saw something in me that I didn't even see in myself yet. You see scars, Riza, but scars are just a map of our hearts. They show us where we've been, where we've grown stronger. I know the scars I left on your back have been painful, but they lead to me. Every time. They lead to me." He drew away a little, meeting my eyes and smiling. "And I swear, scars or not, you've got the sexiest back I've ever seen—hands down. I'd take Riza Hawkeye over Elisabeth Smith any day."

I sniffed. "Riza Mustang."

"Riza Mustang."

His pale lips stretched away from teeth, creasing and dimpling at the corners into a loose grin. I craned my neck up and brushed the tip of my nose on his cheek, lifting my chin until my lips bumped against his face and kissed him twice on the same cheek.

Roy took my waist and I let myself fall gently on top of him. He chuckled. I held his face with both hands, right under his ears, and kissed his mouth, our faces rubbing as the kiss intensified. We parted breathless, Roy looking up at me greedily. Now I chuckled.

I rolled off of him, pulling him over me by his shoulder in the same motion. We kissed again. Everything ran together, every moment blending as we went into the next until I could hardly tell one from the other.

Was this our second kiss or out fifteenth?

Did two kisses count as one if our lips never fully parted when we were breathing in between?

Roy leaned his body slightly, reaching onto the bedside table. I peered past his shoulder, catching the glint of white fabric being pulled from the top drawer. His fingers slipped into his ignition glove just enough to snap. The subtle glow of a transmutation flickered off the candles I'd set around the room until in a split moment they all smouldered and flickered off.

Mrs. Benton, eat your heart out.


	27. Chapter 27

Author's Note: This one's shorter than the others I've posted lately, but it's important. More to come!

verry-chan: I like that I made you laugh out loud in a library. That "ten-minutes" dialogue took me a while to decide on. I wanted to stay in character for Roy and that was what I came up with. Thanks for appreciating the "scars are maps..." thing. It's a little corny, but I felt that it needed to be said.

PhantomhiveHost: Why thank you! I always thought Roy and Riza would make a really hot couple (oh, gosh, that was a pun, wasn't it? a bad pun, too), but I also thought they'd make a really sweet one too when no one was looking.

mixmax300: I was craving them showing each other off for a long time. I mean, I'd be writing a few chapters back and I'd think to myself, I hate these friggin fangirls; I'm just going to have Riza kiss him right here and stake her claim. But that would've ruined the plot, so I was forced to wait. Glad to know you've been enjoying it with me.

Lothmel: Yeah, I had to get creative with the wedding stuff. I thought about just having them recite vows in the living room together and then consecrate it and that be all, but then this was so much better.

Livvie: Aw, Livvie, that makes me feel so good. A lot of times I don't even finish free-writes (this started out as an unfinished free-write I left dormant for six months), but all you guys's comments really boost my morale and I get excited about writing every chapter. So glad you like it.

fullmetalmage2: Thank you so much. It gets me excited when my readers want to read on. It means I've got you hooked, which is a really big compliment to a writer. Enjoy! Things are about to get interesting(er).

* * *

Chapter Twenty-seven: Honeymooners. That was the plan.

My head wasn't on a pillow when I woke up. My cheek was resting flat against Roy's chest rising and falling leisurely under me. I breathed deep, catching the late-morning sunlight on my bare skin, snuggling against him under the sheets. Somehow the comforter had ended up on the ground.

"You drool like a dog," Roy laughed, his tight body quaking under me.

I picked myself up, wiping my mouth. His skin where my face had been was damp with my spit.

"Oops," I said, balling up a wad of sheet in my fist and rubbing him off. "Good morning."

We shared a quiet laugh together as I sank back on top of him and reached up to comb my fingers through his bedhead. His eyes were bright and alert, his smile strong. He looked too wide awake.

"How long have you been awake?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I didn't look at the clock."

"So you just laid there and watched me drool on you all morning?"

"You talk in your sleep."

I perked up, catching his eyes.

He held my chin. "You really have a thing for your dog."

I raised an eyebrow. "I talked about Hayate?"

"You told him to go back to bed about five times before you threatened to shoot him. Then you stopped talking for a while and you looked really happy. I'm going to try not to assume that you shot your dog in your sleep."

"I don't remember," I said with a laugh. "What else did I say?"

"Nothing," he said. He grinned. "You did tell someone to find her own colonel, but you only slurred that one out once."

"That could be anybody."

Roy put his hand on my waist. "How tired are you, Mrs. Mustang?"

I smiled, kissing his prickly cheek. "Not tired. My husband let me sleep in for once."

"Nice guy."

Roy cupped his hand under my jaw and tilted my head to meet his gaze. He grinned mischievously.

"I know you just woke up," he said, bringing his thumb up from my jaw and running it over my bottom lip. "But since we're already here…"

I climbed forward and kissed his mouth. He didn't have to say another word after that.

…

I knew Roy was free to his own opinions, but to me our time as newlyweds made everything else worth it. I wouldn't say it out loud, though. I may have had my share of struggles, but Roy had been the one who'd had to deal with being shot seven times. I didn't have the right to say that was worth it.

I'd still think it, though.

"Coffee, Mrs. Mustang?" Roy asked, handing me a steamy mug.

He called me Mrs. Mustang when he was trying to get on my good side because he knew I liked to hear him say it. I raised my eyebrows, taking the mug and setting it on the table in front of me.

"This is instant, isn't it?" I asked, hardly impressed.

"If by instant, you mean bile-in-a-cup, then yes," he said. "It is."

"Roy," I whined, pushing the mug aside. "Why don't you just let me make the coffee from now on?"

"You get up late," he said. "I'm not waiting until lunch to drink my morning coffee."

He had a point.

"Yeah," I said, taking a sip and cringing. "Fine."

We'd been married eight days now and the neighbors were beginning to talk. We'd always been considered a 'rather conservative young couple,' hardly ever seen even holding hands. In fact, it turned out many of the people in Clover Valley had suspected us of going through a 'marital winter.'

It wasn't like we'd turned into the town's slut-couple or anything like that, but if it was winter before, it definitely wasn't now. We'd only been out enough times to get basic groceries and pick up the fitted rings, but even the little that we were seen we were seen enough.

We couldn't help it. Touching each other came naturally to us now; holding hands, linking arms, a hand on my back or an arm around my waist, a head on his shoulder, fingers through his hair. Half the time we didn't even realize we were doing it. It was great!

Roy and I knew the honeymooner-high never lasted forever; we'd talked about it a little after the first night. But while we were newlyweds, we fully intended to act like newlyweds.

That was the plan.

We had planned on maybe going out for dinner that night so neither of us would have to worry about cooking, but there was heavy rain most of the day and it even started thundering as it got darker. So Roy succumbed to my breakfast omelets and the two of us made-out on the couch for a while, planning to have a hot bath and get to bed before we'd be too tired to have fun before falling asleep.

That was the plan.

Roy slipped his glove on and lit the candles around the bathroom to give us some light. The lightening was striking but without any windows in the bathroom, all we got was the rumbling crash of the thunder. I cranked on the water, waiting for it to warm up before I stopped up the drain, then kicked the door closed and helped Roy pull his shirt off over his head.

"I've been thinking," he said, kissing my ear.

"Uh oh," I said with a smile.

He chuckled. "If we're going to be staying here for a while, maybe we should get a bathtub that's actually built to hold two tall people. Not that I mind being on top of each other; I'm just thinking long term."

I drew away enough to meet his eyes, holding my shirt down with my elbows so he'd concentrate on me and not on uncovering my boobs.

"This is new," I said, narrowing my eyes. "You've never mentioned long term before. I mean, are you serious?"

Roy sighed through his nose, looking sideways at the ground. "This whole thing with flame-alchemy being on the market is personal to us, to both of us. But, as much as it bothers me that it's out there, sitting at the breakfast table reading newspapers and magazine clippings all morning isn't going to do anything. Face it Riza; we're useless on this one. It doesn't matter how deeply we were connected. We aren't connected anymore. It's probably best if we just do what you said in the first place and try to disappear."

I gripped his elbow so hard my knuckles turned white. "You promise?"

His eyes widened like I'd caught him off guard.

"You're okay with giving up?" he asked.

I took a sharp breath to keep from feeling like I was going to cry. I released his elbow and fell into his arms. I couldn't think of anything worth saying so I kissed his chest and the top of his shoulder at the mark where I'd taken a bullet out.

"I'm sorry, Riza," he said, running his hand down my long hair to the small of my back. "I've had a lot of goals for my life that I'm being forced to let go of and it's been hard for me. I'm just glad I haven't been forced to let go of you. I'm sorry. I've had my priorities mixed up for a long time. Can you forgive me?"

I shook my head. "Don't say that. Your priority was giving your life to others, to your country, Roy. You just wanted to help people as much as you could. That's one of the things I've always loved about you. It hurt knowing I'd never have you, but you were sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of everyone you were determined to protect. I can't blame you for that."

I kissed his face on each cheek, thunder vibrating through the air around us.

"You know what?" he said, smiling like he was ready to crack up laughing. "You really are something, Mrs. Mustang."

"Why, thank you, honey," I said with a silly grin. "Let's get in before the tub overflows."

Roy made another attempt at pulling my shirt off, but I suddenly stepped away from him before he could get it past my naval.

"Hey!"

"Shut up," I said, bending over the tub and cranking off the water so it was quiet.

"Riza?"

"Shush!"

The rain was still chaotically pouring over the roof and the ground, but the thunder had died down for now, waiting for its next crash. The stillness gave way to a new sound, almost like someone was knocking on the door. But it was fainter, sharper, like a rapid tapping.

"An animal?" Roy asked, listening.

"Sounds like a cat," I said.

I hurried out of the bathroom. Roy followed after me.

"Riza, we're not taking in a stray cat," he said, not sternly but almost like he was pouting because he knew I'd get my way. "That cat's going to fall in love with you and every night it's going to crawl into bed with us and sleep between us so it'll have you all to itself. You know I'm right."

"We don't even know if it's a cat," I said. "I'm more of a dog person, anyway."

I unlocked the door and the tapping stopped. If it was an animal, the turning of the lock might have spooked it. I opened the door slowly, little by little so not too much rain managed to make it inside. I didn't want to have to mop the whole entryway.

"Oh, God!" Roy said behind me.

My sentiments exactly.

Standing there, shivering like a wet mouse, stood a tiny girl, no more than three feet tall. She looked up at us with stunningly blue eyes from me to Roy, and said, "Flame Alchemist," like it was a password. She said 'alchemist' like 'ow-kuh-mist,' like a young child who hadn't quite mastered talking yet.

"Get her inside," Roy said, his voice hard. "Now."


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note: Tell me if you saw this coming. Just curious.

mixmax300: I loved your reaction. So true. I've been pumped about dropping that bombshell and I'm glad I've got you hooked on it. Read on!

Hawkstang: You're awesome for remembering all that. I love that you've been paying attention and picking it all up. Keep those details in mind. They'll come in handy from this point.

PhantomhiveHost: I don't like it when I'm the one left hanging and the author leaves me hanging for an extravagant amount of time, but if they're done fair-and-square, cliffhangers are pretty darn great. Leaves you craving more and makes it more enjoyable when you finally get more.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-eight: Bitch

Roy locked the door behind us as I pulled the little girl inside out of the rain. I squatted in front of her on our doormat and rubbed her twiggy arms to help calm the violent shivering. She was wearing a deep blue dress that looked like it had been stunning when it was dry. Her feet were in expensive-looking black shoes with soppy white socks up past her knobby ankles. I grabbed a coat off one of the hooks by the door and pulled it around her like a towel.

"You okay sweetie?" I said, rubbing her arms again. "What were you doing out in the rain?"

Her hair was short like a boy's and as black as Roy's was. She was pale like Roy too, with thin lips and a button-nose. If it hadn't been for her blue eyes, she and Roy might have been related.

"How did you find me?" Roy asked rigidly.

The girl's jaw was practically vibrating, her teeth barely able to meet long enough to even chatter. She turned to Roy and pursed her wet lips.

"She's just a little girl, Roy," I said.

Roy folded his arms, glaring like grey stone. "She said 'Flame Alchemist.'"

"Roy…"

"Flame Alchemist?" the girl said, her little voice squeaky in her throat.

Roy stepped forward. "See?"

"What's your name, sweetheart?" I asked, knowing her name wasn't 'sweetheart.' "Do you know where Mommy and Daddy are?"

She stared at me with a suppressed smile like she was delighted to have been asked a question she knew the answer to.

"Bitch," she said, blinking beads of rain off her eyes.

"Hold on, Roy," I said, feeling his tension. "She's practically a baby. She doesn't know." I turned back to the girl. "My name's Miss Riza. Can you tell me your name?"

The girl's expression relaxed a little like she may have been confused about something.

"Bitch," she said again.

I knit my brow. "Bitch?"

She smiled, showing off her pearly rows of baby-teeth.

"Good to meet you," she said, but 'meet you' came out more like 'me-chew.'

"This is a joke," said Roy. "I'm going out there."

I grabbed Roy's pant leg and yanked him back hard.

I shot him a severe glare. "Don't you even dare."

"They're out there," he growled, pulling away.

I stood and took his arm. "Last time you walked into the dark without thinking, you got seven bullets in your belly."

I felt Roy slacken against me just a little.

I clung to him. "Let it go."

He brushed me off and walked briskly into the kitchen for a beer, unable to do anything but channel his frustrated energy into something else.

"What the hell now?" he asked, throwing in an unnecessary explicative as a passive aggressive gesture. "They've got a toddler for a spy and she's too little to tell us half a shit!"

The little girl walked out of the coat and came toward Roy shakily. Her steps were light like she was used to getting around without making much noise. Roy stiffened, unready to be approached. The girl stopped just before crossing into the kitchen and reached her hand down the front of her dress. She pulled out an envelope, damp at one corner, but mostly protected. She reached out her arm and waved it at Roy.

"Flame Alchemist," she said, not smiling anymore.

Roy kept his eyes on her as he leaned down and took the envelope from her hand. He stood straight and flipped it over to the front where there was something written. He smiled bitterly.

"Flame Alchemist," he read aloud.

"She's a messenger," I resolved.

"She got through the door. I'll give her that much."

I beckoned the little girl over to me, holding out my hand for her to take. She stared at me like what I was doing was a puzzle to her. She looked at my hand for a moment before falling back on her bottom and pulling off both of her drenched black shoes. She stood back up and put them in my outstretched hand.

"Thank you," she said. Her eyes lingered on the shoes. "I like these very much."

"Do you want to take your socks off, too?" I asked, setting her shoes by the doorway upside down to dry.

I put out my hand. She gave a pinched look before sitting down again and taking off the socks.

"I love these ones, too," she said, placing the dripping wads of white into my hand.

Roy smacked his hand on the countertop, dropping the envelope and letter together onto the floor. He had his eyes on the girl now, sharp, focused. I hadn't seen him look so coldly at anyone in a long time. I instinctively put my hand on the girl's shoulder as if to shield her from his glare.

"Roy?"

"Anya Bagrov," he said. "Children's storybook author, my ass."

He may as well have been speaking to himself.

"Anya!" the girl cried excitedly, running past me to the door and looking back at me, grinning. "Anya gives me cookies sometimes," she babbled.

Roy shook his head. "I'm sure she does."

"Tell me what's going on," I said.

The girl's excitement began to turn frantic. "Anya!" she said again, pointing.

"That kid is not named Bitch," Roy said. "She's called Subject 21. She's a lab specimen, a successful lab specimen. An independent sector of Drachma's government has been using her somehow to cultivate their own version of flame-alchemy. So, that children's author I wrote to a while back on a hunch had been working for them when she got my letter. Apparently she had a soft spot for 21 and she'd been waiting for an opportunity to smuggle her out of there."

"Wait, Anya?" I asked. "How'd she find us?"

"I thought I was writing to a kid's book author. If I'd realized I was writing an anonymous letter to a Drachma agent I might have used a little more discretion."

"You didn't even bother to change your handwriting, did you?" I asked, glowering.

The one letter he'd sent without asking.

The little girl had reached both her hands up for the knob and was pulling on it like it was stuck.

"Does anyone else know?" I asked him, looking back at the girl.

"Read it," Roy said, picking up the crumpled paper from the floor. "It sounds like Bagrov was acting alone." He paused, looking over at the girl with me. His tone hushed a bit as he spoke. "They'll find Bagrov soon if they haven't found her already. Read the letter. She knew she wasn't coming back. This kid's not going anywhere."

I glanced through the letter and set it on the table without reading it a second time, coming beside the girl. She looked at me and her eyes lit up. She hung on the doorknob to show me how to open it. I put my hand over her hands.

"Miss Anya had to go away for a while," I said, meeting the girl's wet eyes. "But she left you here with Miss Riza and Mister Roy and we're going to take good care of you."

The girl's arms fell limp at her sides, a series of shudders running up her bony spine. She looked down at the doormat, sedated. I waited for her to cry.

"Okay," she said.

And that was it.

I could tell she was upset, but she was shockingly reasonable for a child as young as she was. I supposed growing up in a lab had probably conditioned her to behave and accept things without question.

"Let's get you warm," I said, taking her delicate hand. "We've got a warm bath with your name written on it just down the hall."

We've got a warm bath with 'Bitch' written on it just down the hall.

Roy came behind us like a shadow and stood in the doorway as I brought her in. The candles were still lit from our earlier attempt. I checked the water and it was warm.

"Can you take your dress off by yourself?" I asked, releasing her hand.

She nodded, chewing on her lip nervously.

"What did Bagrov mean by 'successful'?" Roy said. "How was 21 a successful specimen? How was she different from the others? It would've been a lot more helpful if Bagrov had just stuffed a file down the kid's dress instead of a lousy letter."

"Shush," I said sharply, turning to Roy. "Don't say that name out loud."

But the girl didn't catch Roy's mistake, probably only used to referring to Bagrov, 'Anya.'

The girl pulled the dress over her head, the soaked fabric clinging to her naked body all the way up. I choked on a gasp, trapping it in my throat and holding my hand over my mouth. The girl's body was already small, but she was so thin that her flesh had sunken in around her bones to somehow make her even smaller. I could see the shadows between each of her ribs with every one of her quick breaths.

But the thinness wasn't what had made me gasp. As horrible as the thinness was, the first thing that caught my eyes were the scars. A few across her chest and belly looked like they could've been surgical scars from invasive procedures, but the majority were flecks of discolorations from varying inflictions, most likely beatings. Some weren't even completely healed. Two looked like she could have gotten them within the past couple of days, bruised golden-purple and scabbed over with dark red.

She put her dress out to me, her arm shaking. I stared at her, unblinking, unable to move. Beads of tears trickled from her eyes and she sniffled quietly.

"I love this the most," she said, holding the dress out for me. "I love it forever."

She said 'forever' like 'foe-eh-vuh.'

"You can have it back when it's dry," said Roy flatly. "Get in the tub."

The girl stopped crying, looking up at Roy like she was meeting God for the first time. She surrendered the dress into my hand without confliction.

"Come on," I said, setting the dress aside. "I bet you're dying to get cozy."

I lifted her into the tub, her body feeling cage-like and fragile in my hands. She sat down in the water and grinned wildly.

"Water!" she squealed, patting its surface with her palms. "It's all warm."

I watched her wading back and forth, dipping her face in and out until she got water up her nose, and I wondered if she'd ever had a real bath before.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, handing her a sudsy washcloth. "I make good pancakes."

She looked at the washcloth in confusion for a second then dropped it into the water with her and let it sink to the bottom of the tub. She looked up at me.

"What is pancakes?" she asked.

I paused.

"Well, they're like flat circles," I said, forming a round shape by connecting my thumbs and index fingers. "And they're soft and kind of sweet. Sort of like fresh bread."

"It's a cookie," said the girl.

I sighed. "More or less."

Roy gave me a look like he wanted this to be a bad dream. I forced a smile that he would know was forced so he would know I understood. I squirted some shampoo into my hands and worked it into the girl's hair. She breathed on the point of hyperventilation trying get as many sniffs as she could of the perfumed suds. I kept her head back, not wanting to risk her getting shampoo in her eyes on her first bath.

She closed her eyes and I dunked her head back, ruffling her hair until the bubbles had all dispersed. Her hair felt like wet down-feathers between my fingers. I'd helped out friends with their kids a few times in the past and I'd babysat a little in high school, but washing this child's hair for her felt new.

She sat up, rubbing her closed eyes with the backs of her hands.

"You alright?" I asked.

She nodded, still rubbing her eyes. "I don't like that."

"Well, sometimes we have to do things we don't like to get to the parts we do like."

I dabbed her face off with the corner of a clean towel. She opened her eyes and smiled at me like I'd just preformed magic. I smiled back.

"Okay," I said, reaching into the tub and feeling for the drain-plug. "Say goodnight to the water."

The girl looked down at the foamy water immersing her and ran her hands through it like paddles. She didn't say a word, just stared blankly. I pulled the drain and she watched it slowly go down.

"You can have another bath tomorrow," Roy said like he was giving a briefing at a meeting.

The girl sat straight, grinning. "Night-night, water!"

She said it like, 'Nigh-nigh, wah-duh!'

After I'd patted her dry and gotten her bundled in a towel, Roy and I took her to our bedroom and I put her in one of my comfy-shirts. The pink T-shirt usually came down about to my hips on me, but on the girl it was like a dress. She acted like she believed it was a dress, too.

She'd started yawning, so I decided to skip the pancakes and let Roy whip up some gourmet burnt toast. I refused to let the little skeleton go to bed without food on her stomach; God only knew when she'd last eaten. The girl sat on the kitchen chair like she was sitting on a throne. I began to doubt she had ever been given the dignity to sit on anything but the ground and a lab table.

"Hey, sweetie," I said, urging her back down from standing on the seat for the fifth time that evening. "Who gave you the name 'Bitch'?"

She sat with a plunk, her gaze falling to the table.

"I don't like it," she said. "I don't like those guys."

Roy looked up from getting out the butter.

"What guys?" he asked.

She looked at him, eager to please. "They give me an instruction and I didn't do it."

"Is that where you got all those marks?" I asked, pointing to her clothed tummy.

She looked away. As young as she was, she still knew the scars weren't right somehow.

"Who were the guys?" Roy asked again, stepping forward.

The girl began to look perplexed, obviously confused as to what Roy was looking for her to say.

"He sent me bye," she said, finally. "But then I came back and he was smiling the biggest much because he was happy I came back."

"I don't know what that means," Roy said, his voice mounting on frustration.

"Roy," I said. "Just make the toast."

I was proud of him for making himself turn around and go back to cooking. He was seething, though. I could practically feel it coming off of him.

"I don't like the name 'Bitch,'" I said, leaning down to the girl's level. "Do you like that name?"

She looked up at me for a while then decided it was safe to shake her head.

"I don't like 21 either. It's a number. You're not a number, are you?"

She shook her head again, fighting a smile.

"Why don't you and I pick a real name for you?"

She nodded vibrantly, standing in her chair again. I coaxed her down.

"Any ideas?" I asked. "Do you know any good names?"

"Bill," she said proudly, like she was something special for knowing a name besides her own.

"How about something a little more like a princess and a little less like a guy with a desk job," I said mostly to myself. I met her eyes. "I know a good one."

She waited, her hands pressed in her lap excitedly.

I smiled gently. "Nina."

I heard Roy's padded steps turn a little heavier.

"Nina," she repeated, not even as a question.

"You like it?"

"Yeah-huh."

"Nina's a special name," I said. "I knew a little girl named Nina a long time ago."

"I'm the same as her?"

"No, but you remind me of her," I said. "Her name was Nina Tucker and she was sweet just like you, and pretty just like you. And she had good manners. And she was precious."

"Just like me?"

"Just like you."

The girl smiled wide, standing in her chair again. "My name is Nina Tucker."

She said it like 'Nina Tuck-uh.'

I took her arm and pulled her back to sit, chuckling at her enthusiasm.

"No, not quite," I said.

I watched her. She had herself propped up with her spindly arms bent on the tabletop and her skinny body leaning forward like she was ready to jump up and do anything the moment Roy and I gave the word. Her short hair had started to dry from the bath. Now that it had been combed, I saw that it really did look a lot like Roy's hair. And they were both so pale. Her baby-nose was more turned up than his, but the two of them really did remind me of each other in a bizarre way. But those eyes, those big blue eyes; like aqua prisms. Her trusting gaze was overwhelming.

"Not Nina Tucker?" she asked, sinking like I'd just about broken her heart.

"No," I said, placing my hand over hers. "I think you should be Nina Mustang."


	29. Chapter 29

Author's Note: I want to put Nina in a onesy, sit her in front of Sesame Street, and hand-feed her something with a lot of calories. Just saying.

Alright, so I'm going to end up claryifying this in the story a little down the road, but it's not like I'm going to spell it out in the actual text, because that would be overkill; Nina's not Roy's kid (blue eyes are a pretty recessive trait and black are pretty darn dominant, though nature has its exceptions). I just felt like Nina needed to resemble him to give them some visual connection. Women tend to think in emotions while men tend more to think in actions, so men often need a little help forming quicky bonds in writing (not to stereotype, but that's usually how it is). So, Nina's appearance is pretty relevant to the subconcious of the reader when she's first introduced in that respect. If I'd given her freckles and fiery red hair, she'd seem out of place in the group from the start and I'd have to work harder at getting her character established. This way she's already integrated, almost neutral. It sounds overthought, but it works whether you realize it or not.

So there you have it. Roy Mustang is a lot of things, but he's not a daddy.

Hawkstang: You're right. Nina's adorable, but she's bringing on a heck of a lot of bad (not saying it's intentional, though).

mixmax300: Hey, I've replied to you so much that I can write your account name without looking back at your comment five times first *cough; I'm not a name person*. Yup, what fun would it be to insert a normal kid into the story? The Mustangs' life together was going way to well for me to let it last. Bring on some plot tension!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-nine: Oh, so _now_ they put us back in the game.

I folded the brown throw in half to fit Nina better and set it on top of her curled up body, careful not to rouse her. She'd sat down on the couch for less than five minutes before I turned around and found her out like a light. She was sleeping heavy, too. Her breaths were long, her entire body rising and falling with every deep inhale and exhale. She was so young she was still sleeping in fetal position. She had her mouth just slightly ajar with her thumb poking at it like she was used to sucking on it when it suited her. I could hear her airy breaths escaping light from her lips.

I felt Roy's hand on my shoulder.

"We need to talk," he said.

We went into the bedroom together and I closed the door until it was left open by a crack just in case Nina needed us. Roy ran his hand over his face, sitting on the end of the bed before taking a forceful breath and coming back to his feet. He paced to the side, stopped, leaned on the wall for a few seconds, then stepped slowly back to me.

"You don't get to hand out my name without running it by me first," he said, finally.

I folded my arms, a little confused. "Is that what this is about?"

"Don't do that," Roy said, shaking his head. "Don't pretend I'm overreacting. You just adopted a kid without asking me. We've been married eight days and you just adopted a kid."

My hands relocated to my hips. "I called her Nina Mustang. That doesn't make her our daughter."

"Why'd you do it?"

"It sounds good," I said. "She can pronounce it well enough."

"That's bull," said Roy.

"Please don't make this a thing."

"It is a thing."

"I'll change the name, okay?"

Roy ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "You named her after someone. You could have named her anything, but you got sentimental and named her after a kid that died on our watch. Then you went and gave her our last name. It doesn't matter what you change now. You've gotten yourself attached, Riza. You're falling for her."

I tried not to look like I was thinking about it. "She's a three-year-old little girl. Who wouldn't get attached?"

"You want a baby, Riza?" Roy said, throwing up his hands. "I'll give you a baby. I'll give you ten. This kid is not ours. Bad things are going to happen from this point on and I can't have you getting tied up in emotions."

I walked past him briskly and sat on my side of the bed, crossing my legs and kicking my foot. We'd never had this talk before and this wasn't how I'd imagined it going down. Roy let his head roll back and gave an irritated groan; not like he was irritated at anyone in particular, but like he was irritated at the situation in general. I twisted around to face him, meeting his eyes.

"So you're not planning on protecting her?" I asked.

"I'm not so sure that's in our best interest."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I said, standing.

Roy glanced back at the door with his finger on his lips. I quieted, sinking back onto the bed. Roy sat on the end at the far side, sensing that I didn't want to be touched.

"I know that girl," he said, finally. He looked back at me. "She was there when I got shot. She's the one who noticed me standing there. She's what gave me away."

"You said it was too dark to see any faces," I said sharply like I was accusing him of lying.

"I saw enough of her to make out the silhouette," he said. "Like a three-foot skeleton. The rest I didn't need to see. It's her. I swear it's her."

"On what grounds?"

"On the grounds of I swear it's her."

"So what?" I said. "What difference does it make? We already know from the letter she was heavily involved with their research. So, she gave you away the night you got shot. It doesn't mean she was out to get you."

"See, this is what I was talking about. You're getting emotional about her. I said I didn't want you getting emotional."

"You can go to hell. She's a baby, Roy!"

"She's not our baby."

"Well, if she isn't our baby then whose is she?"

I paused, averting my eyes. Roy didn't speak.

I shook my head. "I don't know why I said that."

Roy let out a breath. I felt the bed shaking lightly as he climbed across to me. He sat down at my side and I let him hold my hand. He turned his head until he'd managed to meet my eyes.

"I know why you said it," he said somberly. "She is just a baby, a damn cute baby. She's been abused and it's impossible not to feel a little protective. It's not like you've done anything bad. I was wrong to lose my temper about it. It's just…"

I tightened my fingers around his hand like a hug. "I'm sorry. This isn't fair."

"No," he said. "Don't apologize. I just need time to think. It's not a thing."

"But you're scared."

He nodded.

"Of her?"

He shook his head like he almost wished it was her.

I leaned on him, kissing his neck tenderly. He put his arm around me and rocked me.

"I liked the way things were going," he said. "I've missed the military, but things aren't the same as they were. We can't go back. I don't want to go back. Oh, God! I don't want to do this again."

He bowed his head like he'd wilted. I pulled out of his embrace and crawled around to straddle his lap, hugging my arms around his neck and kissing his forehead. He met my eyes and wrapped his arms around me, holding me like I was a teddy bear and he was afraid of the dark.

"I don't want to do it again either," I said, kissing an eyebrow. "But we're going to be okay. You've got the Hawk's Eye on your side, Colonel. I'll even start calling you 'sir' again if you want me to."

Roy's laugh sounded broken, but at least I'd gotten a laugh out of him at all. I smoothed his hair away from his eyes and kissed his forehead. He drew me closer and met my lips then pulled my hair back to kiss my neck. It took me a moment to realize that he'd really kissed the scar on my throat. I leaned forward, pushing him back onto the bed. He grabbed the bottom of my shirt and began to draw it up.

Then he froze, turned his eyes to the cracked door like he'd remembered something, and pulled my shirt back down. He looked up at me and shook his head.

"Our honeymoon has officially ended, Lieutenant."

I got off of him and helped him up. I caught myself glowering and tried to relax my face before he could see it.

"You're such a pouter," Roy said, chuckling. "Kind of makes me proud of myself."

I grabbed a pillow and shoved it at him. "Shut up."

We made it into bed still in our pajamas for the first time in eight nights and neither of us was particularly in raptures about that. We left the door open wide with a lit candle on the dresser in case Nina woke up in the middle of the night. It seemed like a dream to me that I would wake up in the morning and she'd be there, like it wasn't really happening. Having a child in the house with just me and Roy was kind of a new concept.

The thunder had died and the rain had become soft. Roy was warm under the covers and, nuzzling up against him, I decided that there were worse things in life than falling asleep without sex.

Roy shook me awake at around three in the morning, so hard he just about jarred me. I sat up quickly, immediately catching the frantic whimpering coming from the sitting room. Roy pulled me up and we hurried there together.

"Nina?" I said in a whisper.

Her crying didn't falter. I flicked the lights on at the wall. She was hunched on the ground, her head down with her eyes wide and unblinking. She had her hands in tight fists, sandwiched between her bare knees. She was trembling violently, her shoulders quaking. Tears poured off her face. She was grinding her teeth like she was trying to keep herself quiet, the beginnings of high-pitched shrieks cut short in her throat.

Roy made it to her first, kneeling down in front of her. She didn't seem to notice him there. I knelt beside him and she didn't acknowledge me either.

"Nina?" I said softly, trying not to startle her. "Was it a bad dream?"

Roy gave me a worried glance. I shook my head. I was almost as new at this as he was.

"Hey," Roy said to her. "Nina?"

She choked on a sob then reverted back into it.

"Say it again," I whispered, tugging his shirt. "Say her name again."

"We're here, Nina."

She sputtered.

"Come on, Nina," I said. "It's okay. Tell us what happened."

Her body curled into itself and she shivered. I rubbed her arm and she let out a tortured cry.

"Won't stop," she said into her knees, pressing her fists tight together. "Want it to stop."

She fell into gasping sobs. Roy looked at me again like he truly believed women were born knowing how to fix this kind of thing. I shook my head. He looked down at Nina with a kind of concern I hadn't seen him use in a long time. His gaze was soft but his eyes were a clashing entanglement of rage and sadness. He'd had traces of that look from time to time when dealing with Edward and Alphonse during their involvement in the military, a kind of worry he didn't even show toward me. But this was different. It was like he was actually contemplating doing something about it this time.

"It's okay, Nina," he said gently, taking her wrist. "You can show me."

She shrank back and he let her pull away. She was sniveling hard and fast now. If she kept it up she might make herself sick.

"Let us help you," he said.

He put his hand on her wrist again and she let him grip it, breathing sharply. He pulled one of her fists from between her knees and the other came with it. Her balled-up hands lay in his palm like little walnuts. She sobbed pitifully, the sound making it out of her mouth this time. She wouldn't meet our eyes.

"Show me," said Roy.

Slowly she uncurled her hands to lay palms up. The familiar smell of cooked flesh came into the air and I felt myself gag in my throat. Nina had her eyes locked on the blistered marks like she had a gun pointed to her forehead. Roy held her hands surprisingly steady, his expression subdued as he stared down at my father's research branded into Nina's palms. It was like he'd expected it. My stomach lurched.

"I'm going to be sick," I said, putting my hand over my mouth.

Roy kept his eyes on Nina. "Do it in the bathroom, Riza."

I could hear him talking to her when I had finished retching, but his voice was a quiet rumble, his words inaudible. I could hardly hear Nina's voice. I assumed he was asking her mostly yes or no questions. I flushed the toilet and swished my mouth out at the sink. What the hell was happening?

I came back to the sitting room and they were just how I'd left them, Nina's hands still lying on his. I stopped at the doorway.

"You good?" Roy asked, turning to look at me.

I nodded.

He smiled half-heartedly to show he was concerned for me. "Could you get me a piece of paper and a pen?"

I nodded.

Roy let Nina's hands rest in her lap while he scribbled out a quick circle that I was able to pick out as something alchehestry. He laid it on the floor and set Nina's burned hands on it. She winced a little but didn't complain. Roy activated it and I watched the alchemic notes fizzle out of her palms in a flash of red light. Without a word, Nina picked up her hands and flexed them, folding her fingers in then spreading them out like fans.

"Better?" Roy asked.

Nina nodded, sniffing. She crawled forward and put her head on his knee, still shaking, silent tears beading down her drained face. Roy turned a little stiff, clearly startled, but eased up after a few seconds and relaxed his posture, staring down at her like he was observing her. Nina kept her eyes open like she was afraid to close them.

"It's alright, Riza," Roy said, beckoning me.

I staggered forward, my knees buckling at his side. He held me, pressing his forehead to my temple.

"Nina says she only gets the burns after nightmares," Roy said. "Anya Bagrov's always healed them for her. Since there aren't any scars on Nina's hands, I'd say Bagrov got to her every time. It sounds like Bagrov's been using alchehestry on Nina to keep the circles hidden. I'm starting to think that no one else knew Nina was a successful specimen."

And if Bagrov was dead, the only ones alive that had seen the research were the three of us. If Roy's theory was right, my father's research was contained to the sitting room. I smiled shakily, pushing back tears that leaked anyway. I sniffled on Roy's shoulder and he petted my hair. He laughed bitterly to himself.

"Well," he said. "If Drachma wasn't clued in on Nina then, they are now. Bagrov just put up a red flag on her if I ever saw one."

"So, we're leaving," I said, not even bothering to make it a question.

"Yeah," said Roy. "Not tonight. They'll be everywhere looking for her tonight."

"Because it'll be easier to find her while the tracks are fresh," I argued.

"And it'll be easier for us to get caught out in the open while the hundred-man Drachma search-party is hypersensitive."

I looked down at Nina. She'd grabbed a fistful of Roy's pajama pants and was holding onto him like she was drifting at sea. I wished for a moment that she'd grabbed onto me instead. But, altogether it was nice to see Roy loosen up. He'd never seemed like a 'kid person' to me; I'd never seen it, at least. I counted my blessings that she wasn't scared of him. Chances were she'd seen worse.

I panned my gaze around our house. Not, 'my apartment,' but, 'our house.'

Our sitting room that had doubled as my bedroom; our bathroom where he'd bathed in the mornings and hadn't realized I could hear him singing the national anthem with bad pitch through the walls; the kitchen where he'd asked me to marry him upon my request; the bedroom that had doubled as his hospital and the bed where we'd first made love. Roy was right. I was too sentimental.

I looked up at him.

"Where will we go?"

"Pack light," said Roy. "That's all I know right now."


	30. Chapter 30

Author's Note: I love how Roy pretends to be a jerk at work to throw people off and then turns into a major softie when it comes to his friends. It's so great. He's got such a cool character.

mixmax300: Correct!

Hawkstang: Yep. Nina's a complex little kid.

Magical Pirate Ninja: Thank you! I'm glad you're reading and enjoying it. It makes me feel way cool every time I get a reader who likes what they've read!

PhantomhiveHost: Yup. The way Roy always secretly worried about the Elric boys in the series always gave me a feeling he was a closet-'sucker for kids.'

* * *

Chapter Thirty: The Princess changes back into a Sniper at the stroke of daybreak.

I don't know what Hattie was doing at the back of town where the road out met a quick dead end, but she was there, sitting against the slate half-wall, smoking what appeared to be her third cigarette, with the butts on the ground beside her.

I thought to myself that maybe that was why she'd always seemed to be on Roy's good side; like old times with Havoc.

"Who's the kid?" Hattie asked, puffing from her seated position. "She's not yours."

She enunciated 'yours' at me like she was addressing me more than Roy, as if to say I wasn't capable of having his babies. I tightened my hand around Nina's territorially.

"Niece," said Roy. "Babysitting."

"I always thought you were an only child," said Hattie, biting on her cigarette to smile. "She's got your ears."

I coughed to disguise an involuntary snort. Nina was adorable, but there had been a year in junior-high when Roy had been teased for those monkey-ears. Of course, that mostly stopped once he grew into them. I watched Roy force a smile as he hoisted our duffle higher onto his shoulder.

"Well, have a good morning," he said.

"What are you up to, Jim?" Hattie asked. "The sun's barely up."

"Kids run on different schedules," I said, glancing at Nina. "Don't call my husband Jim."

Hattie almost dropped her cigarette. Roy said good morning to her again and we turned a corner. Roy and I smiled together subtly without meeting one another's eyes. We'd never see Hattie again, anyway.

The plan had been to step over the back half-wall and walk straight into the open valley where there wouldn't be any obvious roads we'd be more likely to be targeted on; but with Hattie there 'gatekeeping,' we'd have to find a different route without a witness.

I didn't even want to know what Hattie was doing there so early.

Well, maybe I was a little curious. Just a bit.

Nina kept quiet. We'd told her once at the front stoop and she hadn't spoken since, just like that. I told Roy most children weren't so obedient to which he kindly reminded me that most children didn't wake up with Flame Alchemy formulas burnt into their hands either.

The dark blue dress and the shoes and socks had dried overnight and I'd switched Nina back into them before we left. She'd smiled and twirled the skirt back and forth. It was like the nightmare from before had never happened for her.

"She's little," Roy had said. "Probably just distracted."

"Or, maybe she knows it's going to happen again and she's smiling while she can," I'd replied.

We both hoped Roy was right that time.

Nina's feet were so small that her shoes could fall between the gaps of the cobblestone paving if she wasn't careful. I was willing to carry her but Roy encouraged us to walk while we could. Nina's wiry frame weighed next to nothing, but the heaviness would build over time.

From the way she'd looked at me when I'd held out my arms to her, I wasn't sure Nina was used to the idea of being carried. I wondered how old she had been before Drachma's Flame Alchemy researchers had started making her walk everywhere on her own. One might expect a child so malnourished to tire quickly, but I had a sense that Nina had more stamina beat into her than that.

Nina tripped forward over a crooked cobblestone and I jerked her up before she could graze her knees.

"You okay, sweetie?" I asked quietly.

She nodded, giving me a closed-mouthed smile. She hadn't even cried out on the way down.

Roy looked back at me. "We'll head out the front and go the long way around, next to the cornfields. The stalks are pretty tall. We'll go unseen."

I nodded, turning around back toward the house. We'd go over our steps, but no one was up to see it as suspicious. Well, no one was supposed to be up.

We were approaching the hill that led to our cottage when I heard the footsteps coming up behind us. They had a slide to them that indicated they were trying not to be heard. I let go of Nina's hand and pivoted around to shield her and Roy, pulling the revolver from the holster under my tailored half-jacket and aiming it one-handed at the threat behind us.

Howard put up his hands and gulped.

He was smiling like he'd never been so thrilled in his life.

Roy grumbled. "Nice, Riza."

"You didn't even realize we were being followed," I said, holstering my baby. "Sir."

"Ha!" Howard said, folding his arms. "I knew it. Mr. and Mrs. Brown, my ass."

I caught a glimpse of Roy's paled expression and wondered if I looked as stunned as he did. Howard laughed like a brat.

"Come on, Colonel," Howard said, giggling. "I'm a kid, not an idiot. I've got a poster of you hanging in my bedroom. I know who you are." He turned to me. "And you pulled a gun on me, so you're in on it too, right? Wait…you're the Hawk's Eye! I guessed right, didn't I?"

"It took you that long to figure that out?" I said, tilting my hip with attitude. "Who the hell else would I be?"

Howard blushed. "They don't put your face in the papers as much."

I couldn't help but smile.

"It's because she's too busy being featured in smutty magazines," said Roy.

I elbowed him hard in the ribs. Howard laughed hysterically.

"I always thought you two would be really hardcore," he said. "Military."

"Well, I'm at ease," I said. "He doesn't have an excuse."

"I always knew you two had a secret thing," Howard said with a grin. Well, who didn't? "So, who are those guys staying at your place?"

Roy glanced back at Nina. "My niece?"

Howard raised an eyebrow. "You're an only child."

"My foster niece."

"I wasn't talking about her," Howard said, rolling his eyes. "The tall guys with the rifles. Army buddies?"

I could practically feel Roy tensing with me. Nina grabbed my pant-leg like she knew something was wrong. I looked at Roy but he didn't meet my eyes.

"What did you tell them?" Roy asked coldly, his eyes narrowing like black knives.

"You look like my poster when you do that face!" said Howard exitedly, like he was about to grab it to get Roy to autograph it.

Roy walked forward and I put my hand out to keep him from yanking Howard up by his collar.

"Tell me what you told them," Roy said, his tone quieted to a low growl.

Howard's smile faded a little bit, disappointed. "I didn't talk to them. I saw you guys walking and I thought I'd just ask you."

"Were you seen?" Roy asked. "Were you followed?"

Howard looked excited and terrified at the same time, like a kid getting his first black eye. He shook his head and followed with a 'no.'

"What did they look like?" Roy said. "How many? What were they packing?"

"I don't know," said Howard, flustered. "They were wearing masks. I think there were three and they all had big guns."

"Roy, that's enough," I said. "We need to get out."

Roy nodded, bending to meet Howard's eyes, taking his shoulder. "Go to the end of town and find the barmaid. Harriet."

"Hattie," I interjected.

"Tell her she didn't see us this morning. You didn't see anything either. You were just meeting her for a smoke."

"I don't smoke," said Howard, awed at being given a fake alibi by a military officer.

"You were being a dumb kid," said Roy. "And you don't know what those strange men are talking about. You just want your mommy. If they don't buy it, you tell them everything, got it? Get stubborn and these guys aren't going to hold back on you because you're a kid. Tell Harriet to do the same. They won't hold back because she's a woman, either. And don't swap notes with her. The less the both of you know, the better. You don't talk about this with anyone, ever. From now on, Mr. and Mrs. Brown disappeared together overnight and it's the first you've heard about it. Got it?"

"Roy."

He kept eye contact with Howard. "Got it?"

Howard nodded. "Yes, sir."

He gave us a salute with his left hand and we saluted him back with the right one.

"Hey, kiddo," I said. "Thanks for the Intel."

Howard grinned. "I got to cream the Flame Alchemist at poker. I'm not complaining."

I didn't have the heart to tell him that a monkey could cream the Flame alchemist at poker.

"Go, kid," said Roy.

Howard ran. We did too, but in the opposite direction. After a few cobblestones, Roy grabbed Nina like a bundle of wheat and carried her in one arm. We went by the narrower streets, weaving between buildings and houses. I took out my gun and went ahead first.

"He'd make a good soldier," said Roy quietly.

Roy was defected. Roy was running for his life. Roy was responsible for the lives of others. And Roy was recruiting.

"Yes, sir."

Nina hung in Roy's arm like a bologna loaf; quiet, limp, seemingly unfazed. Not frozen in fear, not numb to it, numb to reacting to it.

There was a tall brick wall lining the town, not necessarily meant to keep people out or in, but to deter vermin and block flooding rain, common problems for far out in the country. Unfortunately, both of our exits were blocked; the front by the enemy and the back by two civilians we didn't dare draw any more attention to.

It was funny thinking of them as civilians again. Like I wasn't one.

"We'll have to climb," said Roy.

I looked up at the twelve foot redbrick wall. Tall, but not unbeatable. We'd handled worse.

"I'll boost you," I said. "I'll pass Nina up then you can reach down and help me up too."

"No, you climb first, Riza. I don't want you down here on your own."

"It'll be for two minutes. I can't pull you up. It has to be me."

"But…"

"You're putting me more at risk by taking up time arguing, sir."

Roy smiled, sighing. He set Nina down on her feet and tossed the duffle over the wall. It made a padded thumping sound that assured us it had landed on grass. I put my hands out for him, lacing my fingers together palms up. Roy came to the wall.

He looked at me. "Use your legs, not your back."

I rolled my eyes. "Get going, sir."

He was already tall so it didn't take much out of me to get him up, but the time he'd spent convalescing from the bullet wounds a short while back had taken its toll on his strength. His muscles had atrophied and what little had grown back had grown back softer. Pulling himself onto the wall was the first time to my memory I had ever seen Roy pant after one chin-up. It didn't bode well for the upcoming trek. Roy could build muscle faster than a lot of people, but he'd be very sore for some time before he'd really improve.

My ears pricked. I could hear the footsteps, the ones that didn't want to be heard. They were heavier and there were more of them this time. I heard heavy bullets rattling inside bulky guns. I snatched Nina up and lifted her with my arms fully stretched, coming to tip toe as if to get her up sooner by my own will.

Roy reached down for her, his hands alone big enough to hold her like a basket. His motions were urgent, but not frantic enough to indicate he'd heard the approaching steps too. I didn't say anything to him; just passed Nina up. The last thing I needed was Roy in a panic. He was a clearheaded person in even the direst situations. But throw in a life-or-death scenario with someone he cared about and all rationality and reason just disappeared.

I could hear the footsteps so clearly now that I could hear the metal buckles on their boots clinking.

Roy took a moment to make certain Nina was secure on the top of the wall. I loved him for doing it, but he needed to do it a little faster.

"Roy," I whispered, reaching up.

Roy didn't hear. He had his voice down speaking to Nina, but it wasn't down enough. I could hear the agents coming up on us. Roy was leading them over with his gentle noise like a beacon.

"Roy," I said a little louder, straining my arm up. "Shut up."

Certain that Nina was steady, Roy took his hand off her back and turned his attention to me. I must have looked a little more desperate than I'd meant to, because his expression suddenly filled anxiety. His hand shot down and gripped me past my wrist. I felt his grasp tightening as he prepared to jerk me up. I had my foot ready against the wall to climb.

But I heard the shoes. I could hear the buckles.

I let go.

"Riza!" Roy hissed.

He looked in the agents' direction. He'd noticed them too. But we'd stopped talking; they hadn't quite noticed us yet.

"Stay down," I whispered. "Be right back."

Roy put his hand out further, reaching for me, helpless as I ran along the wall toward the direction of the footsteps. Behind me I could hear him yelling in an above-whisper, "Don't you dare. Get back here! That's an order!"

I ran past the agents' path so I was about ten feet past them and thirty feet past Roy with them between us. I took a quick glace back at the wall, feeling with the tips of my fingers for possible footholds. I took a few steps away from the wall so my position kept Roy and Nina out of sight.

I heard the breathing, the heavy pants of three men.

I swung my gun over my head and fired into the open sky, the sound rattling the air of the silent village. I wondered what the neighbors were thinking, hearing my gun for the first time. I wondered what Howard was thinking. I wondered what Hattie was thinking.

There was a blip of near silence where the boots skidded and pivoted; pounded toward me over the stony ground. Then the spray came, the spray of bullets. I'd predicted as much, so I was already sidestepping behind a shop enough to shield me.

Just about.

I soon found that I'd misjudged their range of fire by about three quarters of an inch and it was enough to get me into trouble. I didn't feel the bullet at the moment I was hit-I could have been hit at the beginning when I was still moving out of the way, or I could have been hit later by a ricochet shot when I was already ducked down-but the moment I was shot and the moment I realized I was shot were all relative and unimportant. All that mattered to me was that my right arm had suddenly become incapacitated.

I'd never preferred shooting with my left hand. The last thing I'd anticipated was the idea of having to knock off all three of the trained agents with my left index finger pulling the trigger. But when I felt the pain and the rush of adrenaline, the dark red warmth leaking out of the top of my right arm, and the excruciating sudden inability to lift the arm past a thirty degree angle from my body, I moved along without even thinking about it.

I grabbed my right wrist and shoved its hand into my back pocket to keep it from swinging around and getting in my way. The pain throbbed in both directions; down through my wrist and thumb, and up through my shoulder and vertibrae. I bit back a cry and stuck the gun in its holster, kicking off my shoes. The spraying bullets stopped and I took my chance, running at the brick wall.

With my feet bare, my soles gripped the rough brick surface with better friction. My feet could flex to slip easily into the holds, and my toes could fan and contract to grab the wall like my hands could. Without shoes, my feet had the ability to climb. I hoped it might be able to make up for my lack of one hand.

The three agents had fired all their abundant rounds at once, firing their guns at the same time. I was tempted to call them stupid for using their bullets up so carelessly, but honestly, they were just going for a quick clean kill. No one should have been able to survive that. I was sure they hadn't expected they'd be shooting at an internationally renowned markswoman.

Though, they were idiots if they'd been assigned to recover Nina from us. A spray like that would have killed her for sure if she'd been standing there. I couldn't see them yet, but I began to wonder if they were even legit agents at all or just mercenaries with big guns and tiny common sense.

They didn't realize they had needed to reload until they saw me running at the wall. I had fifteen seconds, tops. It would've been easy enough if I'd had two functional hands to climb with, but I was doing it all with my left, and my left was not my dominant hand by any means. Not ot mention, as many gaps as there were in the surface of the old wall, it was still redbrick and a lot smoother surfaced than would have been convenient. The momentum from running did help. I made it most of the way on the running start alone. But the last few feet I had to do by my own strength.

And I couldn't do it in time.

My plan had been to make it to the top of the wall to where I could get a good angle on the three men before shooting, but I knew the sound of a ready gun and I could hear it coming from all three. I took a glance down at the five feet between me and the ground and jumped before I'd fully decided how I'd land.

I kept my hand and foot ground against the brick on the way down to slow the fall down so the shock of my shinbones hitting the ground wouldn't throw me off. I could feel the brick grating the skin from my palm and toe knuckles all the way down. I was in the midst of pulling my gun out when I landed. I heard their guns cocking. I twisted my body and fired three rounds as I went, like a garden sprinkler.

The familiar sound of bodies dropping.

Something I hadn't missed.

I stood, dropping my gun back in its holster under my bloody-sleeved half-jacket. I stepped toward the men, tempted to look under their masks, pick up hints on just who exactly was after us. But I could already hear the townspeople coming to the noise of gunfire to investigate and they didn't need to know it was me who had done it. I would've liked to say I was just trying to keep them all uninvolved, but part of me just wanted them to remember me as Elisabeth. Part of me liked that I'd be leaving behind a home with people who'd never seen me hold a gun that I'd killed with.

Besides, Roy would be worried and I had to show him I was okay.

Mostly okay.

I was a little dizzy.

I needed to get up that wall.

Now.

I stepped forward, tucking my right hand deeper into my back pocket. I let out a sharp cry as my arm bent back, stifling the sound by gritting my teeth. The hand had slipped out of its pocket a little during the intensity of the shooting and the climb. It was coated in a thick layer of dripping wetness, not watery but slicker than that. I could smell it and I knew it was too much. I knew it was going to hurt more later, when I'd gotten through the shock. I knew that that was a bad thing, because it already hurt like someone was taking a corkscrew and ripping through my bicep like drilling for oil.

I reached forward and touched the brick wall. My hand was raw from holding the brick as I'd slid down and the blood that had rubbed onto it from my other arm stung as it seeped into the scraped flesh. The pressure of the brick burned my palm and I jerked my hand away like a big baby.

I thought about getting another running start, but my knees were getting wobblier and I didn't know that trying to run was such a good idea. If my knees buckled on the way over, I might not get back up. And I could hear the townspeople's voices now, getting closer.

I had to keep alert, save my conciousness. Once I was over I'd have to get the bullet out myself; I didn't trust Roy to do it, not in a panic. I didn't know that I could stitch myself up afterward, though, even if I did stay concious. The angle of the bullet was wrong. I wouldn't be able to see what I was doing. I could talk Roy through it. Or he could try to stop the bleeding with what little he knew about alchehestry. But we couldn't do anything until I'd cut the damn bullet out. I cursed myself for not getting shot at an angle with an exit wound.

I leaned my forehead on the wall and breathed. I breathed again.

"Roy?" I said. It came out softer than I'd meant for it to.

But he heard.

I heard a clap in the stillness. And then the wall coursed with red light. I staggered back and watched as the bricks sank down to barely two feet. Roy stood on the other side, looking forward like he'd been waiting for an elevator. He saw the blood and got a horrified, 'I told you so,' kind of look across his face.

"Why didn't you just do that before?" I asked hazily, smiling.

Roy stepped over the lowered wall and took me, lifting me into his arms. "I didn't think we were going to kill them," he said with a stiff smile. "If we'd let them live, a transmutation would've given away our escape route."

He was pretending he was teasing with me because he thought I didn't realize I was hurt. I tried not to look in pain. Keeping me from panicking was keeping him from panicking. He took me back across the wall.

"Nina?" I asked, looking around the crops and the wildflowers.

"I told her to hide with the giant pumpkins."

I looked out. What should have been the pumpkin patch was quickly blurring in and out of large orange blotches on a background of brown and green. A dot of blue crawled out from behind an orange blotch and ran to us. Roy set me down, leaning my back against the brick so he could put up the wall again before all of Clover Valley came to the scene. Nina stepped toward me, but stopped short, folding her hands anxiously.

"You okay, sweetie?" I asked, the words coming out slurred and tired.

I was having trouble focusing my eyes, but she looked scared to me.

I beckoned her over with my functional arm. "It's okay, baby. Mommy's fine."

I had a faint sense that there was something off about me calling myself 'Mommy,' but I was too tired to try to correct myself. What was Nina supposed to be calling me, again?

Nina looked up at Roy, silent. Roy bent down and lifted me up again, shrugging the duffle further back on his shoulder. I flopped on the way up more than I meant to. The movement whipped my hand out of my pocket. My limp hand fell in a jerk, making my elbow lock then making my arm bounce like a weighted bungee cord. I wasn't prepared for the pain, so I couldn't help but cry out. I didn't even clench my teeth in time to muffle it.

Roy shifted me in his arms so my arm was resting on my stomach, securely supported and in his sights. He looked down at me then down at Nina.

"You left behind some blood, Riza," he said softly, his eyes looking out across the open fields and the hills. "And they're going to see it, that it leads over the wall. So, we've got to get out of here before they come around to try to figure out why the blood leads here."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll get you somewhere safe so we can fix you up," he said. "Soon. I promise."

"Promise?" I said.

"Yeah."

"Then, can you do something for me now?" I asked. "Can you tie a tourniquet above the bullet so I don't bleed to death?"

Roy breathed shakily. "Yeah."

"Roy?"

"Yeah, Riza?"

"It can't be more than a few hours. Promise?"

"I'll try."

I nodded.

I wasn't a professional, but I knew it when I saw it. Battlefields had taught me enough to know. If I went without a tourniquet, I'd be dead in an hour.

But if I went for more than four hours with the tourniquet, I'd lose my arm.


	31. Chapter 31

Author's Note: I know this took a while, but in my defense, I had a migraine for two excruciating consecutive days and have spent the past three days getting my strength back; and if you don't know what that's like then you are very, very blessed. Alright, I'm done.

Magical Pirate Ninja: Yay for girls who love this violent crap! It's so much fun to read and so much more fun to write! I dunno if I could pull off losing an eye, though. Kind of tricky. I fudged the end of a free-write a few years back by making my main man have his left eye bashed in by rubble, but I was way vague about it. I think the most graphic thing I wrote had something to do with the word "pulp." So cool that you actually did that. I'm impressed.

mixmax300: Yeah, I've missed writing violence! I used to do a lot of free-writes in high school with kind of a medieval-adventure feel, so I got to write out battles and spars and gore all over the place. The past couple years I've been concentrating more on using imagery to enhance character and character to enhance plot, so action scenes have been on the bench. I've missed it beyond missing it!

Hawkstang: So, I've actually done some research on the subject because I was thinking the same as you: "Should I just have him snap his fingers and be done with it?" But it turns out burning a wound shut is really dangerous and doctors are pissed off at the movies for making it look so cool. People at home are all fascinated and want to use it a first aid on themselves, but it's kind of a last-last-last resort type thing, apparently. I guess I could have taken some creative license, but keeping medically accurate actually helped my plot this time. Thanks for keeping vigilant!

PhantomhiveHost: I need to keep track of how many times I get a comment with "Poor Riza" written somewhere in it. It's so sad. She gets happy and I just keep knocking her back down. Oh well. At least it's just physical this time. And yes, she did go down with a pretty kick-ass fight.

verry-chan: I love it so much when I get stuff like, "did not see that coming," and my readers mean it in a good way. You made me smile; blaming Roy for Riza's arm issue when she's the one that stole off against his orders and got herself shot. When in doubt, blame Roy Mustang (that should be a bumper sticker). And yes, I've always had a secret desire to mention the fact that Roy probably had monkey-ears as a child. Thanks for appreciating it with me. haha

* * *

Chapter Thirty-one: Gave it Our Best Shot

I could hear myself breathing. It wasn't the pain from being jostled or the discomfort of my chest tightening. No, it was the sound of my own breathing that woke me up. My breaths were like hoarse cries.

Roy was in the middle of setting me down when my eyes peeled open. I looked up at him and noticed we were under a thick tree, surrounded by grass and then field after field of grassy emptiness. The duffle was behind him and Nina was sitting on top of it, panting. But besides that, there was nothing. There was us and then there was ground, hills, and trees.

Roy leaned me against the gnarled trunk and smoothed my loose hair from my eyes. The sun was brighter than it had been when he'd told me to sleep. I wondered how long we'd been walking.

"Does it hurt?" he asked.

I breathed, nodding. I reached my left hand to grab my right shoulder where the pain was most intense, my eyes closing in a wince. I felt Roy stopping my hand by the wrist, holding me back.

"It's turning blue," he said, his voice trembling, shaken.

I breathed. I breathed again.

The arm throbbed down to my fingertips, the blood fighting desperately to pulse with my heartbeats. Roy had tied the tourniquet tight. He'd stopped the bleeding like a pro. He'd cut off the circulation almost completely. And we'd waited too long.

Roy had wanted to cauterize the open tissue to sear off the bleeding until we were able to stop long enough to dig the bullet out. He'd done similar things before with success in different emergency situations. But this wasn't a clean amputation or a straight gash that could be sealed on the spot. The bullet had penetrated deep and cauterizing the broken tissue around it would only do more damage, increasing my risk for infection and eliminating stitches as an option for later. A tourniquet had been our one and only resort.

My face was hot, hotter than it should have been in the mild spring temperatures. I felt damp beneath my clothes and my clothes felt damp against me. I'd been sweating. I could feel the warm sweat beading down my face and my chest. I wanted it to be shock from the bleeding rather than the beginnings of a fever from infection, but I wouldn't know for a while.

I felt along my arm, coming to the wound and pressing against the damage around it. I kept my lips closed to muffle my groans with each consecutive press from my fingertips. I could hear Roy telling Nina I was alright. I removed my hand and tried to breathe steady. It felt like someone was beating my arm with the wrong end of a hammer.

"Riza?"

I didn't open my eyes. "Bone's not broken," I said wearily. "Just a flesh wound. I got lucky this time."

"It's not looking so lucky, Riza."

I inhaled choppily, letting it out slow. I looked up at him and forced a quivering smile. He was off, his coloring was off. He looked drained. I wondered if he'd been remembering to drink water. Then I wondered if he'd been well aware he wasn't taking care of himself.

I swallowed. "Can you get me the first aid stuff?"

My eyes closed again. I could hear the duffle being unzipped and the rustle of clothes and other necessities being shoved around. The bag zipped back up. Roy knelt beside me with the tiny box of first aid supplies on the ground beside him. I met his eyes then looked toward Nina.

"Nina?" I said. "Will you go pick me some flowers?"

Nina came into view, sitting down next to Roy. Roy looked down at her and told her to go pick Mommy some flowers. I smiled. It seemed my slip up from earlier had stuck, then. Roy would probably say later that 'Mommy' was just a name, nothing more.

"Anya sings me happy songs," said Nina, "to make me better."

"Will you please sing to me tonight? Later, at bedtime." I asked. "Will you sing then, to help me sleep?"

Nina nodded, her face finally showing signs of a smile. I smiled back, faintly.

"Go pick Mommy some flowers," I said. "Daddy will come get you when it's time to come back."

Roy choked on a breath at the word, 'Daddy.' It took energy to laugh, but I couldn't keep myself from letting out just a small chuckle. Nina ran off excitedly. The flowers didn't start until a good distance from us. If I muffled myself with a handkerchief, she wouldn't hear me scream.

"Riza?" Roy said anxiously. "What are we going to do?"

"Can I have your pocket knife?" I asked. "Please."

"Riza."

"Mine's old. I don't want to give myself lockjaw."

"I don't think you can even hold a knife," Roy said. "You're not going to dig a bullet out of your arm."

"You're not going to do it," I said in near condescension.

"Just tell me what to do."

"You're not qualified."

"More qualified than you right now."

I knew he was right, but it scared me to hand over control. I knew I was capable of removing a bullet. I'd done it seven times on him. But Roy's medical training didn't go much beyond a few basic classes in military school for first aid on the battlefield. Had he even realized what was at stake at this point?

"Roy," I said. "I…"

But I couldn't tell him. I wouldn't tell him I'd lose my arm if he screwed this up. Because I might lose my arm. And if I did and he thought it was his fault, he'd have more than a hard time bouncing back. A harder time than I would and I'd be the amputee with my trigger-hand lopped off.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

I nodded. "Nothing."

I had him snap flames over the blade of his knife after he'd rubbed it down with alcohol to sterilize it beyond necessity. He'd been careful with my arm since leaving Clover Valley, so the wound was already in good shape as far as cleaning it was concerned. He put some peroxide over it then laid me down with my arm resting on his lap, using one of his rolled up white shirts to cushion it. I had him leave the tourniquet, just for when he'd take out the bullet, to keep the blood-flow slow and minimal.

"Ready?" he asked, holding my arm down on his lap.

I looked up at him and tried to smile like this was going to be easy and it would be over before I even realized it had begun. He saw through me like I was being too obvious for him to even acknowledge I was pretending to be brave.

Roy touched my cheek. His hands usually felt warm on my skin, but I'd gotten so hot that his fingers felt cool now. I shuddered before I could stop myself.

"You ready?" he asked, holding my arm down again and gripping the knife. "Riza?"

I wondered if he'd just sit there until I died if I never gave my consent for him to begin. I decided he wouldn't wait forever and he was just trying to humor me right now and make me feel like I at least had a little control over the situation. He'd begin whether I let him or not and he'd do it soon. I breathed deep.

"Be gentle," I said. It was a stupid thing to say, but it just came out like that.

I clenched my teeth and closed my lips. I wouldn't be able to muffle myself by biting down on anything or stuffing a handkerchief in my mouth because I'd have to be free to tell Roy if there was something he needed to do differently or if there was something he was doing wrong. I felt tears well up in my eyes and I realized I was crying before he'd even touched me, anticipating a little too hard.

"I'll try to be fast," he said.

I shook my head, staring up into the tree branches shading us. "Not fast. Careful."

Roy nodded. I turned my face to watch my arm, resting my cheek on the grass. I didn't want to watch. Watching Roy push the knife into me would be even worse than watching myself do it. But I couldn't let this go wrong.

Roy held my arm steady again, resting the edge of the knife's tip against the purpling skin surrounding the bullet hole in my flesh. I felt its coldness, its icy pang like a foreshadowing of the upcoming pain. Roy's hands looked steady enough, but there was an uncertainty to his hold, his coolheadedness tainted by his emotional involvement. I heard him inhale deep from his nose like he was about to dive under water.

I watched as his hand applied pressure to the knife and the knife applied pressure to the top of my skin. My skin dented under the pressure and his knife glided over it, slicing cleanly into the tunnel of shredded muscle, the tunnel the bullet had previously ripped into being. My stomach flipped and I gasped, winded by the sudden jump in pain. I'd expected it to come on a little steadier and wear on me as Roy went along.

I tried to keep my eyes on his hand, but my body was arching and I couldn't keep my head from reeling back. I said the word 'no,' my breathless lungs coughing it out, and clenched my teeth harder; it was like no amount was hard enough. I tried to breathe, but all that came out was a series of frantic sobs. I lost my hold on myself and moaned.

My free hand grabbed at the tufts of grass under it, gripping so hard that the blades ripped out in clumps, my hand immediately reaching for more. I was grateful to Roy for holding my right arm down for me so I wouldn't have to struggle with restraining it myself. I tensed my legs and pressed my heels into the ground as hard as I could to keep myself from thrashing.

I could feel the knife sliding in and out, sawing through, and then in a little deeper as it probed for the bullet. The tip poked the inside of my flesh on the way down, scraping the torn fibers. Even with the tourniquet on, I could still smell the blood. I moaned again.

I could hear myself saying, "Dammit!"

"I think I can feel it," said Roy, his knife resting in my arm.

I tried to stop crying. "Tweezers," was all I could say.

I heard the first aid box click open. Roy took out the medical tweezers I'd had him sanitize earlier and held them up for me to double check. I nodded, still grabbing at the grass, waiting for the pain to take a break.

"Get it out," I sputtered. "Sew it up."

"Alright."

I closed my eyes, feeling the pressure increasing from the knife's blade. I pressed my lips together and screamed into my teeth. I stayed that way for a while as the tip of the blade lifted up in my broken flesh to act as a guide for the tweezers. Unlike the knife, the tweezers went in thick and dull, stretching and tearing places where the knife hadn't done the job.

I could feel the pain taking me over, the darkness behind my closed lids darkening and the air I choked on becoming thin and unsatisfying. This was the part where people passed out from the pain. I groaned and tried to pass out. The pain continued.

I felt the tweezers stretching my bicep from the inside, their reach expanding as they dug in deeper and harder. I wanted to tell Roy to stop, but I couldn't stop groaning long enough to open my mouth to say anything. I could feel the tweezers pinching through the fibers, tangling with my flesh as they probed. My head pounded like a bad headache, sore from the fever and my restrained screams. My neck was weak and my head was heavy like a new baby's. My chest heaved as I fought to breathe faster and faster still. No matter how many breaths I took, I still couldn't seem to fill my lungs enough to breathe.

I felt a sharp sting shoot through the wound, so intense that it winded me. I thought that maybe Roy had poured rubbing alcohol over it and that was making it burn, but when I looked, he was simply pulling the knife out. He set the bloodied knife on top of the first aid box and held my arm tight. With a gradual, determined tug, Roy wrenched the tweezers from my arm, the dripping grey bullet sliding out with them.

I caught my breath and cried, not just because it had hurt, but because it hadn't stopped hurting. I felt Roy's hand on my forehead, pulling the hair away from my face. I could barely see him through my tears.

"Idiot. You wanted to do that by yourself?" he said. I could hear the smile in his voice. "That hurt, huh?"

I nodded.

"But you stayed awake."

I nodded.

"That's better than I did."

I fought through a groan, sniffling.

"You always were a tough soldier."

He had his hand off of my arm and he was going through the first aid kit again, getting ready for the stitches. We had a thin needle and Roy's hands had gotten surer since his success with the bullet. I knew it wouldn't hurt a bad, but I knew it wouldn't hurt very little either. It didn't really seem fair.

I swallowed back coming tears. "If I need a doctor, just go on without me."

Now that we were done with the hard part, I felt safe to warn him.

He didn't even pause, threading the needle fluidly. "That's not going to happen."

He wasn't saying it for argument's sake. He was stating it like he really believed I wasn't going to need a doctor and therefore wasn't going to need to be left behind.

"Promise me you'll leave me behind," I said, new, soppy tears beading out of my eyes.

I meant 'you' as in 'you-plural,' him and Nina. And he knew that.

He took my arm in his hand again and pinched the broken skin together. "No."

I nearly argued, but then he stuck the needle into my arm and it was all subdued screams from there.

…

Roy tried to move on. Three times before dark he tried. The third time I ended up vomiting and Nina told him he should quit trying. If he'd really been so set on getting further ahead of Clover Valley and any potential pursuers going through there, he should have just kept going when he'd tried to move me the first time and all I'd had was a fever.

He'd managed to get us as far as under an overhang from one of the crags lining the valley we were in, which at least kept us dry when it started to rain. He started a fire and Nina fell asleep, curled up in one of my sweaters with her back against the cliff. Roy sat next to her with my head rested in his lap. He touched my moist forehead for a temperature every three minutes or so and never liked what he felt.

"I think we waited too long, honey," I said softly, my voice drained of strength.

"No," said Roy.

It wasn't shock. I knew now that it wasn't shock. It was signs of infection, not fully realized on the surface, but overtaking my blood and overcoming my immune system at a frightening pace. The fever had stopped trying to counter the infection, now just rising blindly to meet it. The wound was stitched and had stopped bleeding, but it was too late. I'd lost too much earlier and my body was too weak to fight the oncoming sickness, even before it had fully materialized.

Roy touched my forehead again and the look on his face told me I hadn't cooled down. I tried to meet his eyes, but my eyes wouldn't stay open long enough for me to focus on him. I licked my cracked lips to moisten them and licked them again when they instantly dried.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked, reaching for a half empty canteen. It was raining buckets but Roy was too preoccupied to start refilling them.

I shook my head. He'd just given me the first half ten minutes ago. He rubbed cheek. The fever had gotten worse and I was shuddering through chills. My arm hurt, my stomach was uneasy, and the fever was making me ache. My head was cloudy and my body was heavy. I wished my body would just let me pass out for a while.

"You tired?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Do you need to sleep?"

"Can't."

"It hurts?"

I nodded.

"Okay," he said, rubbing my cheek.

"Roy," I said. "I love you."

"Don't do that," he said. "You say stuff like that and you sound like you're thanking me for something. People always express gratitude before they say their final goodbye."

I smiled weakly. "I know."

Roy took a drink of water and patted Nina's soft head. "She's out cold."

I nodded, closing my eyes and resting them like that for a while.

"She's a trooper, I'll give her that," he chuckled. "A real trooper."

I nodded, shivering.

"You really wanted a baby that bad, Riza?" he asked, combing his fingers through my hair.

I shook my head, eyes still closed. "Just her. I want her."

"Why?" he asked. "Not that I don't see the draw. I like her too. But you liked her before you even knew her."

I tried to shrug and winced as my right shoulder came up. Roy rubbed my cheek softly.

"She looks like you," I said, barely above a whisper. "Her eyes are scared...like yours."

Roy laughed softly. "That's why?"

"She's brave for us," I said. "Even though she's scared."

"Like me?"

I nodded.

"Thanks, Riza." He sounded genuinely honored being compared to Nina.

I had begun to shiver violently and the motion was starting to jerk my bandaged arm. I cringed, groaning and reaching my left hand over to steady it. Roy held me, pulling me closer.

"Hey, easy," he said. "Breathe, Riza. You're not breathing."

I choked on a breath. I'd been doing that, letting my lungs extinguish from sheer exhaustion and lack of will. I gulped in air, leaning in Roy's arms, feeling him around me.

"There you go," Roy said soothingly. "Just keep breathing."

He meant it. That's what he wanted, for me to just keep breathing. We both knew it had become too easy for me to forget. We both realized I was doing it too often. I could feel warmth coming up in my throat and I tried to force it down. I felt my nose drip with blood.

"Roy, we gave it our best shot."

"No."

I let him try to dab away my bloody nose over and over as it continued to dribble. It only worsened as my shivers intensified.

"Roy," I said. "It's got to come off or I'll die."

"It's just a fever."

"There's automail," I said.

"No!"

I coughed, swallowing down the burning warmth in my throat.

"Riza," Roy said, calming himself. "No."

"I'll find you when it's over."

"There's no guarantee." Roy held tighter to me as if I was capable of standing up and walking away. "No."

"You won't let me die."

I could see his face in the firelight, his eyes glancing to the side, darting around onto anything but me. It was like he was searching for the right words in a materialized form. I huddled in his arms, trembling. My stomach lurched against my insides and I swallowed it down.

Roy's eyes focused on me. "You said you were the only one who would never go."

I curled against him. "Roy…"

My stomach lurched again, this time harder. I coughed, clamping my hand over my mouth. The warmth spilled out, overflowing through the gaps between my fingers. My throat burned as it fought another heave. I breathed choppily, my breaths quickly turning to cries as it became apparent that the warmth dripping through my fingers was dark red. My mouth was left tasting metallic, the flavor of blood.

"Roy," I said pleadingly. I coughed again and failed to keep it down. Red sprayed through my fingers. Roy held me upright and cupped his hand at my chin like catching some of the blood on the way down was going to make some kind of a difference. He told me to breathe, looking around like there might have been someone around to help me.

"Don't leave me," I said, gasping. "Don't go."

"I'm here. Just breathe."

We needed to go. Anyone would've been a fool if this wasn't a dead giveaway. Internal bleeding meant one of my systems was probably failing. With an infection like this it was probably my liver or kidneys. I needed a doctor and I needed one fast. But I couldn't keep my mouth from asking him to stay, and suddenly I was the one who wouldn't let go.

"We're going to find you a doctor we can pay off," said Roy, soothing me in his arms. "And as soon as you're recovered enough to travel, Nina and I are going to come back for you."

He was reaching over to pack up what was at arm's length, talking to me like he thought I wouldn't notice. I latched onto his blood-damp shirt, trembling.

"Can't I just…" I choked on a cough and swallowed it down. "Please, I don't want…"

"We gave it our best shot, right?"

I shook my head. "Don't want to die alone."

Roy stopped trying to pack and kissed my forehead. He smoothed my hair away and kissed me again. "You won't die. That's an order."

I sobbed and the sob turned into a gag and the gag turned into another heave. I coughed and Roy mopped the blood from my lips. I choked. "Can't make it stop."

"I know," he said, his voice breaking.

He leaned over and nudged Nina awake. She jolted up, rattled, clearly waking from something that had disturbed her. Her hands hadn't been burned so she seemed content with that.

"It's dark," she observed, blinking sleepily.

"Mommy needs a doctor," said Roy calmly, levelheaded for her. "We have to go."

I kept my face turned away like I would somehow be able to keep my condition from her for the rest of the night. Nina stood up and came around to inspect me. She saw the blood and broke down into heavy tears, squatting and rubbing her eyes.

"Mommy's going to be fine," said Roy, shifting me in his arms so he could reach to touch Nina's head.

"I forgot to sing Mommy better," said Nina, sniveling.

"I fell asleep," I said gently. "Not your fault."

"Don't want you to go," she cried. "I love you."

"Mommy loves you, too." I gulped down a retch, tears fresh in my eyes. "Mommy's going to be…"

I bent forward against my will and coughed up enough blood to make me double over this time. Roy acted, holding me still until I was breathing again. "We need to go. Now."

He swung me up and the movement made me cough harder. I kept my hand over my mouth like I was somehow able to hold it in that way. Blood dribbled out and Roy stood still and waited for me to regain myself. Nina latched onto his trouser-leg and sobbed.

"Let go, Nina," said Roy. "Mommy needs a doctor. We have to find her a doctor."

"Where?" asked Nina, looking around the miles of moonlit fields and hills.

Roy glared at her like it was her fault there was nothing within range. "We'll find something."

"Why?" she asked, sniffing.

"Because Mommy's sick."

"Why?"

Roy walked on, ignoring her. Nina tripped over her feet, jerked forward by her hold on Roy's trousers. I could see her dragging her feet, looking back at the fire nervously.

"We forgot the bag of our things," Nina said, stepping after Roy.

"We'll come back for it," said Roy, his voice hardening. Every step he took jostled me like a car wreck. "We need to hurry."

"Why?"

"Because Mommy needs a doctor."

"Why?"

I could feel Roy's muscles tighten against me as he stiffened his posture, his pace slowing. I wanted to tell him to calm down, but I was suddenly distracted keeping a heave from coming up. He stopped and looked at Nina, his eyes cutting with their cold stare.

"Because Mommy is going to die very, very soon," Roy said. And he kept on walking.

Nina stayed where she was, her round eyes widening, brimming with glittering tears. I could see her body already quaking before the sound escaped her mouth. Her face crumpled and she bent into herself, wailing.

"Roy, no," I said, smacking his chest with less force than I'd wanted. "Don't. Don't say that out loud."

"She asked why."

I took a breath. "There were other things you could have said. But you wanted her to cry."

"I wanted her to shut up."

I coughed into my hand then swallowed the blood on the back of my tongue. Roy cradled me, slowing.

"Are you alright?"

"Too late, Roy," I said, shivering. "Don't blame it on her."

"No."

I sniffled into his shoulder. "I love you."

"No!" he said, pacing forward again, stumbling. "I told you not to do that. Don't do it."

My fingertips and toes were going cold and numb like little ice sickles, and my head was getting heavier. I knew it was nighttime, but there was supposed to be more moonlight. I knew my eyes were dimming. A person could only cough up so much blood, could only last so long under a fever so high.

"Want to see Nina," I said softly, resting my head, closing my eyes. "Stop."

"We need to…"

"Want to tell her I love her," I said, smiling weakly. "Not allowed to tell you."

"Please, don't," said Roy, stopping. "We can keep Nina. I like her. I actually like this one. Let's keep her. And let's have another. Or maybe we can have seven. I'll do my best to like them, too."

"Nina's enough," I said, snuggling in his arms, getting comfortable as the pain began to taper. "She's like us. We need each other."

"She's pretty like her mom," Roy chuckled, desperate to keep me engaged. "I'm going to be beating the boys off with a stick when she's older."

"If they're anything like you were," I said, chuckling, coughing.

I coughed into my hand, gagging at the back of my throat, choking. Roy held me, kneeling down in the grass. I fought to catch my breath and my will began to swerve toward wondering whether it was a fight worth fighting anymore.

"Roy," I said. "I don't want to go."

"I'll be here."

"Cry for me?"

Roy took a shaky breath. "Yeah."

I barely had the strength to smile this time. "Nina?"

Roy laughed, his voice shattered. "We need each other, right?"

"Really?"

"She reminds me of you."

I couldn't even move the muscles in my face to smile anymore. Nina had stopped crying and I wondered if she might make it over in time. Or maybe I was just fading from being able to hear her anymore. I sank into Roy's arms and sighed.

"Love you," I said softly. "Roy."

"I love you, Mrs. Mustang."

I managed to open my eyes one last time to meet his wet gaze. By the tone in his voice, I'd thought he might have been smiling, but his face a completely subdued. He was nearly expressionless besides the murky emptiness in his gaze. It was like he'd already lost me. He drew me up and kissed my bloodstained lips, my limp mouth too weak to kiss back. My eyes began to flutter closed.

As the space around me turned to emptiness and Roy's touch faded from me, I caught from the corner of my eye a tiny silhouette of a little girl, not three feet tall. She swung her fragile arms around, clapping her hands together like a prayer. She stepped toward me. My eyes closed and I slipped into a flash of red light.


	32. Chapter 32

Author's Note: I hate midterms!

Magical Pirate Ninja: Holy crap! That would be the most anticlimactic load of crap ever if I ended it there! Oh, it makes me shudder just imagining it. I'm so glad I didn't do that, haha. Thanks for the support!

mixmax300: I love Riza. She's tough as nails. Roy's tough too, but you gotta admit that he'd pass out before she would if it were put to the test, ha!

Hawkstang: You hypothesize like a beast. No joke. You should write screenplays or become an editor or something! Nina makes me happy, too. I've imagined her character for a long time and now I'm finally getting to write her down.

Snakepool: Thank you for telling me to get better. I'm feeling good now, so thanks. It makes me feel really cool that I got such a reaction out of you for that chapter. Read on!

verry-chan: Thanks for the "get well". I'm feeling much better. Oh, gosh! An amputation scene would be intimidating to write! Poor Lan Fan. She's so high-strung and devoted. I love her. And I almost made you cry? That's so great! It's so easy to go from touching to cheesy with death scenes.

Hakimu: Yeah, that would be way hard to switch narrators part-way through. I don't know that I could pull that off. Gosh, killing Riza right in the middle like that would suck! I'd have to be going through some serious writers block to resort to that, haha.

"Guest": One of the first things I learned about creative writing was you can't have a story without (constant) problems or it's boring. So, as much as it pains me, every time I make my characters happy, there comes a time when I finally have to say, "Time to pick a new disaster." Haha.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-two: My Little Hero

I woke up with the sun hitting my eyelids and realized I was still tired, which wasn't really out of the ordinary for me. I inhaled deep, sensing that breathing shouldn't have been so easy, that something was off. I remembered my eyes closing, red flashing, and then everything disappearing. I remembered an unspeakable exhaustion that should have sent me to sleep forever. But I could feel the lumpy ground under my body. I could feel the aching in my head. I could hear birds chirping at painfully high pitches and I could smell fresh grass and wildflowers. This wasn't the afterlife. This couldn't be a dream. I opened my eyes. Roy said, "Good Morning."

We were under the crag again and he was sitting against the rocks with Nina asleep in his lap. He had swaddled her in one of his clean shirts like a thin white sheet. I stretched a little and realized he'd folded my sweater under my head as a pillow. The air was mild and fresh. I inhaled through my mouth as if to taste it and found myself yawning.

I met Roy's eyes, skeptical at his excited smile. Something didn't fit. He didn't fit. What made him smile? He hadn't been nearly so happy the last time I'd seen him. I gripped onto the top of my right arm and squeezed, clawing my fingers into the muscle. I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain. I held it for a moment then let go, looking back at Roy.

"It doesn't hurt," I said, my voice coming out hoarse and grainy.

Roy's smile widened. "Yeah."

"Why?" I asked, glancing at Nina still planted in his lap. "How'd she get there?"

"She saved your life," Roy replied, cradling her in one arm. He scooted closer to me and just rubbed my cheek for a while. I could tell he wanted to say more, but he was stalling because he was close to tears and he was having trouble pushing them back. "She's just about my favorite person in the world right now."

I pushed myself upright wearily, but easily. It came so naturally that I didn't even think much of it. What's more, Roy didn't even advise me not to push myself. He just smiled. I reached over Nina's limp body to take Roy's prickly face in my hands and drew him into a kiss. I couldn't help but smile into his lips as my mouth scraped over the bristles above his upper lip. He kissed me back like he was trying to hold onto me with his mouth. I moved my hands over his cheeks and felt the subtle moisture from his leaking ducts. I unhooked my mouth.

"Don't cry," I said. "I'm disoriented. I'm not going to be able to cry with you until it's sunken in."

Roy shook his head, pinching away the scant tears that had managed to escape him. "You don't understand. Nina saved you."

I waited for him to continue.

"She used her own life force like a Philosopher's Stone." Roy pulled from me and put both his arms around Nina again. "She said Anya told her not to do it because it would make her die sooner, shorten her lifespan."

I leaned forward, this time toward Nina and not towards Roy. "She knew how to do that?"

"She did the transmutation without any circle I could see. Riza, she's been through the portal. They forced her through the Gate for Flame Alchemy."

I looked down at my arm and grabbed where the flesh should have been split, where there should have been stitches and pain but was now only the pale pink discoloration of a fresh scar. "Edward said it could be done. I believed him. But I wouldn't have thought she could do it. Not even if I'd known she'd been through the Gate."

"Fullmetal?"

I stretched my hand forward and stroked Nina's silky hair. "He did it once. During the heat of the conspiracy when we didn't see him for a long time. He was impaled and had to heal himself using his own life force. That's what he told me, anyway."

Roy's face drained of color. "Fullmetal was impaled?"

"He's fine," I said, amused at Roy's discomfort. "It's just, I didn't even think about it. I might have asked you to try it for me last night, but I didn't think about it."

"And she did."

I nodded. "She did. She knew the risks and she did it anyway."

Nina looked like a little china doll with her porcelain skin and ruby lips, her thumb-tip brushing her mouth, ready to pacify her. I wanted to make her pancakes and put her into cotton dresses. I wanted her to have a room with pink curtains and a little bed I could tuck her into at night. But that was impossible right now. If I was honest with myself, she was probably happier sleeping in Roy's arms than she would've been sleeping in a child-sized bed.

"Sweet girl," I said, holding one of Nina's feet. "Sweet baby girl. Thank you."

"We should keep her," said Roy. "I don't think a couple could do much better. I don't think a couple could go wrong with a kid like this one."

My heart skipped out of rhythm. I released Nina's foot and repositioned my hand to hold Roy's chin, tilting his face in search of a smirk. He looked at me over his nose and smiled, tilting his face back forward. The smile was wide and near dimpling, but it wasn't smirking. I released him, folding my arms.

"You can't joke about things like this," I said. "Not with me, Roy. This topic is off limits for your smug attitude."

Roy looked at me like I'd just served him three skillets of plain omelets. "Well, that went differently than I expected. I was serious."

I stared at him. "Why?"

Roy held Nina like he was holding a butterfly and trying not to crush her wings. His eyes rested on her as he gathered his thoughts. "She passed out about five minutes after she healed you. I didn't feel right about putting her down. I guess I didn't want to." He kept his gaze on her, his mouth showing signs of struggle as he fought to speak the right words. "All the stuff I've said to keep you going, stuff about adopting her, calling you 'Mommy,' you know it was just talk. I wasn't thinking it through. I just wanted you to keep breathing."

"I know," I said, more accusatory than compassionate.

"Last night when she got you breathing again, the first thing that came out of her mouth was, "Don't be scared, Daddy." After I made her cry and brushed her off, she put her hands on my knee and told me not to be scared. I don't know. Something about that changed things."

He actually seemed to mean it. He really did.

He continued. "I'm not going to pretend I'm the most fatherly type. I never even had a dad. I don't know what I'm getting into. But there's so much bad in the world just waiting to happen, and as strong as people think I am, when I go down, I go down hard. It takes everything in me to get back up. You know that. But when I saw Nina that first night when you took off that dress and we saw that they'd starved her and beaten her and literaly thrown a three year old child through hell..." he trailed off, looking down with a pinched brow like he was trying to figure it out. "She didn't even know who we were or where she was, but the look on her face when you put her in the tub and we dressed her in one of your shirts...the way her eyes lit up when I told her we'd give her back her dress when it was dry. You want to talk about strong? This kid's the strongest person I know. If I could get one thing right in my life, I've got to say, bringing her up sounds pretty great right now."

"So…" I dared to smile. "Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, Lieutenant-Colonel, James Brown—and now, Daddy?"

"Sounds better when she says it."

"Oh my God, you're serious!" I felt the adrenaline and couldn't keep from coming up on my knees.

Roy rolled his eyes at me like I'd understood a joke ten minutes after it had already been told. "Yes."

"I'm a mom!"

"Yes."

"And you're a dad!"

Roy broke into a suppressed smile. "Yes."

"We're parents!"

"Yes, Riza."

"Roy," I said, calming myself. "We have a daughter."

He chuckled, taking a look at Nina. "Hughes is rolling in his grave right now."

I leaned forward and kissed him and he leaned into me and kissed me back. He tried to tell me he loved me, but I went for his lips again before he could finish. We parted to breath and he said, "I love you, Mrs. Mustang." I told him to shut up or I'd start crying and I wouldn't be able to kiss him anymore. He apologized and left himself vulnerable to another kiss. I locked with him for a moment, but ended up crying anyway. Inevitably.

"I was going to die, Roy," I said. "I had to say goodbye to you. I thought that was it."

"Yeah." It was a pathetic reply, but it was all he could say at that moment.

"And now I'm awake and you're here. And we have a baby. I'm a mom."

"Yeah."

"I almost missed this."

"But you didn't," he said. "Nina told you she loved you, remember? Look at her. She meant it. She's not going to let anything happen to you."

"She's like you."

"She's like you."

"Maybe she's better than both of us." I scooted next to him, sitting close to stroke Nina's floppy arm. "I always wondered what it was like for people with real families."

Roy laughed. "Mr. Shot-the-Fuhrer Flame Alchemist, Mrs. Defected-Hawk's-Eye, and Subject-21 Lab Baby. Yep, gang's all here."

"Real families are allowed to be a little bit…eclectic."

Roy just kept laughing. I rolled my eyes and let myself laugh a little, too. I kissed his rough cheek.

Then Roy winced, hissing and distancing Nina from his lap.

"What's wrong?" I asked, looking. My eyes widened at the fresh burn-marks on the front of Roy's bloodstained shirt. "No!"

"Grab the canteen."

Nina's limp hands lay open, the branded symbols of Flame Alchemy still flickering on her palms in tiny white flames. She jerked and jolted in restless, tormented sleep, twisting in Roy's arms. She was making frightened crying noises as she breathed. Roy put her down and tried to wake her.

I splashed the canteen over her hands and the flames went out for about two seconds while the bigger droplets dripped off. Then they lit up again, like someone had turned the knob on a gas stove. Roy tried to smother the flames with the shirt he'd wrapped her in, but the flames kept coming back and then the shirt caught fire.

We thought of dunking her hands in water, but Roy had neglected to refill any of the canteens from the previous night and I'd just used up what little we'd had left.

Roy's eyes darted over Nina and I could tell he was working it out. "Lieutenant, glove!"

Nina's face began to crumple in agony from the fire burning off of her hands. Roy continued to try to rouse her. I pulled one of Roy's ignition gloves out from the recesses of the duffle and tossed it to him.

"What are you going to do?" I asked. I trusted him, but it did look a little sketchy.

"I usually transmute ideal conditions for fire," he said, yanking on his glove. "But it's possible to do the opposite."

He held his hand over one of Nina's flickering palms, hovering. He snapped his fingers. The red sparks of a transmutation zapped around his fingertips and the air seemed to ripple over Nina's hand as the composition altered and the fire on her palm extinguished itself. We waited five seconds, then six, and her palm did not relight itself. Roy let out a relieved sigh, stepping over her to do the other hand.

Nina started sobbing in her sleep and I came to her side to see if I could help ease the pain from the burns in any way; I was an expert at that. But before I could take her hand, Nina's body jerked and her palm blazed like Roy had poured gas over it. I reached out and grabbed Roy's leg, tugging it back.

"Don't!" I said. "You're making it worse."

Roy got a glance at the flames coming off Nina's hand and jumped away from her like he'd set off an alarm. Nina thrashed, twisting her hands like she was trying to release the fire, trying to put the fire down. She called for me a couple of times before waking up, her eyes opening like a flash, immediately brimming with frantic tears.

"Mama," she said, crawling upright and showing me her hands. "Won't stop. Won't stop!"

"Mommy's right here, Nina," I said, putting my arms around her as best as I could without catching myself on fire. I didn't know what else to say. Last time we'd come in when the flames were already out. She snuggled, crying with her hands stuck out like a beggar's.

"Daddy," she said, looking to Roy. "Daddy, make it stop now, please."

Roy took off his glove like it was something filthy and threw it to the side. He shook his head, at a loss. "I don't know how."

"Please," she begged, near shrieking. "Please. Please. Please."

I could smell her skin cooking as the fire from her hands began to burn into her flesh. I held her tight, looking up at Roy. He didn't meet my eyes. He was looking at Nina. I rubbed the top of her head, kissing her hair.

"Hush," I said softly. "Calm down, sweet girl. Mommy and Daddy are right here. We're right here."

Nina sobbed heavier as the flames continued. "Won't stop!"

"What does Miss Anya do when it won't stop?" Roy asked.

Nina didn't answer. She was going to burn her hands off her wrists.

"Does she sing?" I asked. "Does she sing to you?"

Nina just cried, splaying her fingers out.

I began rocking her in my arms. "Calm down, sweetie. Calm down."

Roy stepped over and knelt in front of her, studying the fire on her palms. "Don't let it control you."

Nina shook her head. "Hurts."

"They're your hands," he said. "You're in charge. Tell them to stop."

"Won't stop," Nina argued. "Won't."

"You control it. You can do it, Nina. Daddy thinks you can do it."

'Daddy' was the magic word there. Whether Nina had any conscious part in it or not, the flames began to thin out. Within half a minute of Roy talking her down, they'd flickered out completely. I hugged her tight and told her she was a brave girl, trying my best to speak above the sizzling of her charred palms. It was worse this time than it had been at the house, probably linked to her very recent encounter with the Gate, the source of her alchemy. Roy drew a basic superficial-healing circle in the dirt.

He knelt by it and beckoned. "Right here, Nina."

He was barely two steps from her, but her knees wobbled when she tried to stand and I had to carry her over. I held her in my lap while she laid the backs of her hands on the circle, me gripping her waist loosely as she bent forward to reach. She'd stopped crying mostly, but she wouldn't answer when we'd ask if she was alright.

Roy clapped his hands together before activating the circle to enhance its alchemic power. God only knew Nina needed it. It glowed red and Nina whimpered like it hurt her to have her skin regenerate. The glow died and her hands had stopped sizzling.

The burns were gone, but I could tell there were faint marks leftover this time. Not orderly enough to be my father's research, but more like faded remnants of untamed flames burnt deep into her baby-skin. I met Roy's eyes because we knew it could have been—and almost was—much worse.

Nina twisted around and twined her arms around my body, nuzzling under my chin. I rubbed her bony back, feeling the vertebrae of her spine and each individual rib as my hand went up and down.

"I'm here, baby. It's over."

"Mommy opened her eyes up," said Nina. "Daddy and Nina aren't scared now."

"That's right." Roy held and soothed us. "I've got my girls now."

Nina pulled her face from under my chin enough to look at Roy, her face flat and stern. "Don't do that one, Daddy," she said, holding out the hand he'd tried to put out with his glove, using it like a visual aid. "Nina does not love it when you do that one."

Roy touched her tearstained cheek apologetically. "Sorry, Nina. Daddy didn't mean to hurt you. Daddy's not going to do that one again." Roy smiled softly, his gaze resting on her with fragile remorse. "But you are."


	33. Chapter 33

Author's Note: I want to eat something that's bad for me.

Magical Pirate Ninja: It's funny. I've always preferred not to emphasize on characters too much if they weren't original to the series, but I love writing about Nina. She's so cute and she brings out fun stuff in Riza and Roy as a bonus. She's definitely a cool creation.

PhantomhiveHost: I've been struggling to find a good balance to Nina's character. In the past, when I imagined how she'd be, I always thought in terms of her either being six or in her late teens and how Roy and Riza would deal with having a kid that was one of those ages. Three years old seems to be pretty golden, though!

Hawkstang: Hey, when I was a little teenager, being called a beast was a term of ultimate respect (like "epic" and "boss"). Unfortunately, "beast" died out quickly and I didn't get the memo until the term was already fixed in my vocabulary. Maybe I should just start calling people "gnarly" and "first class." ..."Ritzy"?

mixmax300: Oh, gosh, I know! I mean, burns are the worst because they hurt like hell when you're in the process of being burned and then they continue to hurt like hell and sting like hell while they're healing. And the nasty ones leave scars. I don't even like eating hot food in case it burns my mouth.

verry-chan: Mid-terms continue to suck, but they're almost through! And yeah, I think Roy would make a great dad. I can actually see him as being one of those over-the-top fathers that has to know all of his kids' friends and their friends' parents and have all those parents' numbers so he can call them and interrogate them if his kids aren't home at the right time.

Firaga Productions: Yep, I didn't want to write Roy too out of character, but I feel like he'd be a totally different person with his kid than he would be with everyone else. It would be the kind of thing where people down at Central Command would catch him baby-talking his kid and they'd just stare in disbelief *wtf?!* One of those moments.

...Oh! BTW, I'm sorry if it was a little unclear, but Riza kept her arm. Nina healed the wound with her alchehestry and ultimately healed the infection and eliminated the toxins in Riza's blood that were making her systems shut down. So, with that taken care of, there wasn't really any need to lop the arm off. I was vague about it in the text because I didn't see it all as completely relevant and I didn't want the story to get boring with details. Oops if it was unclear. My bad :S

TheKingOfOkay: Thanks! Killing Riza right in the middle would be completely horrible. I don't know where the plot would go. Roy would probably turn to substance abuse and Nina would self-destruct. That would make for a suckish wad of coming chapters. Haha!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-three: A Day at the Lake (With Pants)

She needed to learn control, he said. She needed to be able to focus. Alchemy was supposed to belong to the alchemist. Nina couldn't let it own her. He said he couldn't let it own her. I said I understood and I didn't say anything after that. I had no alternative.

We walked through three afternoons of Nina being taught how to snap her fingers, bony white tip rubbing against bony white tip. I kept quiet and observed Roy's excitement as she got closer and closer to executing a snap. I realized that for Roy it wasn't only to teach her control. He was a proud father teaching his daughter how to throw her first punch.

Then Nina's tiny fingers finally made a snap.

Roy said she'd make a great soldier. Nina smiled up at me proudly. I lifted her onto my hip and told Roy to go to hell.

At first he thought I was being sarcastic. "You giving me attitude, Lieutenant?"

I kept walking. Nina flicked her fingers together until she got another snap out of them. She smiled at me again.

"What?" I said down to her. "You looking for my approval on this?"

Roy caught up to us. "Something wrong?"

"You just turned our daughter into your legacy." I glared at Nina without thinking about it. "The military's great, Roy, but we're raising a princess, not Flame Alchemist Junior."

Nina shrank in my arms and said, "Oops," like she was apologizing and didn't know what for. I softened my expression, remembering myself. Roy sighed.

"I want her to know how to snap her fingers," he said. "If she can learn how to channel the transmutations like I do, they won't come shooting out of her hands in all directions beyond her will."

I sulked. "I know."

Nina snapped her fingers again and giggled at her new trick. She beamed up at Roy, having given up on me. Roy smiled and told her, "Good job."

We were out pretty far. We had been for three days. We'd been trecking and sleeping under trees long enough for us to be well out in the middle of nowhere, and we'd done well not to leave any traces. We were as safe as it got. It was time to find something permanent. We knew finding a pre-built place to stay would mean taking a turn toward civilization. We knew we wouldn't do that. We were just looking for water, an ideal site. We knew it would be easy enough from there.

That afternoon, as the sun turned the hair on the top of my head warm, Nina pointed left and said, "It's a birdie and it's a tweeting bird!" Roy and I were amused at her enthusiasm, giving each other looks. We'd seen plenty of birds for the past few days, all of them tweeting. Then we heard this particular bird's 'tweeting' and we became intrigued as well.

"That's a frog," said Roy. "Or a toad or something. That means water. How'd we miss that?"

"Good girl, Nina," I said. To her, probably anything that squawked or chirped sounded like a bird, so why not croaking? I doubted she knew what frogs were, much less what they sounded like.

We came out into a clearing and I could hear the water. I could smell its fresh wetness. Roy led us through a patch of bunched up birch trees and there it was, the green grass suddenly greener and the wildflowers suddenly brighter. A stream! Not just a little spring in the ground, good enough to fill a couple canteens and then move along, but an actual stream, a little river, a branched off lake; something I could dip into to scrub the old blood and sweat off my skin and out of my hair.

"It's going to be cold," said Roy. I didn't even need to say it out loud for him to know what I was thinking about.

"Can't you transmute it cozy?" I asked, making my eyes big and wet for him.

"Yeah," said Roy, stretching his shoulders. "But I'd probably kill most of the fish."

I sighed. "A cold bath is still a bath."

"Keep telling yourself that, Riza."

In the end, we all ended up braving the water. I wasn't the only one coated in my blood from last night. Nina wasn't too covered, but she heard the word bath and started pulling off her dress without prompting.

Roy transmuted a quick hut, a temporary shelter to keep out the cool breeze for whenever we got out. He called it precautionary. He'd transmute something less crude later.

Roy and I took our shirts off without a second thought. We were used to being with one another and Nina was so little and natural with us, we didn't think about our scars when we stripped off our shirts. But we knew what it was the moment we caught her staring, her big blue eyes wide in awe, her jaw slack, looking up at us. Roy and I looked at one another, at one another's scars, and didn't know what to say.

Nina took a step back and tilted her chin down to look at her own bare marked chest and back, looking up at us then back down at herself. Finally she stopped, stood still, and smiled at the scars on her tummy. She came to Roy and reached up to touch his lowest bullet scar, the one angled toward his hip. Roy froze as she rubbed the unevenness where the skin had once been broken. She peered around, catching glimpses of my back. She met Roy's eyes and then met mine.

"Nina is all of Mommy's and Daddy's," she said. "Mommy and Daddy are mine, now."

Roy took her little hand off his scar and held it, smiling softly. Of course Nina would react that way. To her, all of our scars were just some sort of family trait we shared. I rubbed her head.

"That's right," I said. I looked at Roy. "We've all got our maps."

"Pretty corny, Riza," he said, smirking.

Roy's trousers were a mess and should have been rinsed along with me and Nina's clothes, but they stayed on him.

"She's three, right?" he said, folding his arms. "That's plenty old enough to remember this moment when she's older."

"Point taken," I said, unhooking my bra. He was right. I knew. Part of me was just sad I'd be the only one between the two of us to get naked.

Nina grabbed my leg. "I want daddy to come with me too." She said it quietly like it was a sensitive matter and she wanted me to tell Roy for her.

"Oh, he's coming," I said, glancing over at Roy as he put his good leather belt aside. I saw a sudden opportunity and felt an urge to be just a little cruel to him-in an affectionate way, of course. I smiled sweetly at Nina. "Boys' bodies are different than girls' bodies, Nina." Roy froze like rigger mortise and I couldn't help but keep going. "You see, sweetheart, when a man and a woman love each other very much…"

Roy shot over to us, cutting me off. "You see, Nina, my pants are permanently attached to my skin. And it's the same with all guys. They never take their pants off. Ever. And if one ever does, you just call me over and I'll burn him alive. Alright, baby?"

Nina grinned, content with his explanation. "Right-right," she said, tugging at his trousers leg curiously.

Roy faked a flinch and Nina giggled. "That's another rule," he said, scooping her up and swinging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes; an incredibly small sack of potatoes. "You don't mess with pants either. It would probably be safer if you just stayed away from pants. Or just guys. Got it?"

Roy carried her like that to the stream. Nina laughed hysterically, wiggling around, pretending to be trying to escape.

I called after them. "Hey, Roy, last I checked you were definitely a guy!"

Roy stopped at the edge of the water and turned to me. "I'm not a guy. I'm a dad. There's a difference here, Riza."

"I don't know," I said, pacing toward them. "Those look an awful lot like pants to me. What do you think, Nina?"

Roy turned around so Nina could see me. She pointed down to Roy's waist where his trousers started. "Daddy has pants."

Roy whipped around again so he was facing me. "You've turned my own daughter against me, Lieutenant."

I was dead in front of him now, looking straight up at him, my hand tickling on of Nina's bony feet. "I'm afraid Baby Mustang and I are going to have to defect, Colonel Pants-owner."

I reached up and pulled Nina off him and into my arms, slipping past him and running into the water. Nina clung to me and I could feel her body quaking against me with her laughs. She seemed delighted at the prospect of being fought over.

"Aw, come on," yelled Roy, running in after us. "If you're going to be like that, you could have at least made me Fuhrer Pants-owner instead of Colonel."

I was in the water waist deep with Nina when the adrenaline stopped numbing me to the icy water. I felt the goose-bumps come like turning on a switch and me and Nina's bodies vibrated against each other through our shivers. I could feel her jaw on my shoulder, hear her teeth chattering. I pulled her up above the water's surface, but she was already wet and the wind was chilly. From a few meters away from us, I could hear Roy saying, "Damn, that's cold!"

I hugged Nina tight, pulling her up so her toes didn't accidentally dip through the water's surface. She squeezed my neck.

"I don't like that one," she said, her words distorted by her chattering teeth.

"Me neither," I agreed. "Roy! Come get her out. I want to dunk my hair."

Roy waded over, saying, "I should've just killed the fish."

I passed Nina over and his height easily kept her above the freezing water, his arms like thermal blankets protecting her from the outside. He looked vast when he held her. Nina curled up and said something about wanting the other kind of bath.

"Yeah," said Roy, starting to shake.

I twirled my hair back and held my nose, scrunching my eyes. I dunked myself back, scrubbed through my extravagant amount of hair as quickly and as hard as I could, and rose back up, my entire body shaking and jerking like it was trying to break itself in half.

I flipped my sopping hair back, frantically rubbing away the more prominent bloodstains on my skin so I could get the hell out. "Oh, I'm cold! Oh, God, I'm cold!"

"Mommy's cold," said Nina.

"Yeah," he said.

"Go dry her off already." I met his eyes. He wasn't looking at my eyes. I straightened, hugging my arms over my chest. "Really, Roy? We're freezing our asses of and you're going to do this now?"

"We're freezing," said Nina, "our asses off, Daddy."

Roy got his eyes off my boobs. He smiled at Nina like she'd made him proud. I didn't meet his eyes, knowing he'd be smug. We waded out of the stream as if getting out was going to make us any warmer.

Roy whispered, "You weren't really giving her the talk." He glanced to the side, a little traumatized. "Were you?"

"I wanted to see what you would do," I said back quietly. "I never would have thought you'd tell her guys can't take off their pants."

"Hey, that's going to come in handy someday."

"She is a looker." I raised my eyebrows. "I bet you'll be beating the boys off with a stick when she's older."

Roy stiffened.

I shrugged. "Or you'll be burning them alive, apparently."

We had packed a few spare clothes for each of us, but no towels or blankets. Roy went behind the hut to change into some dry trousers.

"Daddy went out of here," said Nina as I dabbed her off with a clean pair of dress socks.

"He had to shed his skin," I said, loud enough for him to hear outside our hut.

Roy came in with us after we'd all changed. Nina chose his lap over mine. He was bigger and substantially warmer. I snuggled next to them and Roy wrapped his arm around me, like penguins in a blizzard.

"Let's not do that again," said Roy.

"Ever again," I agreed.

"Never ever," said Nina. "Too cold."

"Well," said Roy, chuckling. "It's a steady seventy degrees out here, but the breeze is kind of chilly. I guess it wouldn't be too ridiculous to have a fire."

Nina curled up a little tighter. "I don't like that one."

"I'm not getting set on fire," Roy said reassuringly. "I'm making the fire using alchemy. I'm doing it myself so I'm going to make sure it does good things, like keep us warm and cook our food. It's not going to hurt you, Nina. Daddy would never let that happen. Daddy only makes good fire."

Nina nodded, fascinated. Roy put her in my arms and went to the duffel to grab a glove. Nina seemed at ease. I understood that. Daddies had an ability to make their girls feel safe even when their girl had no way of knowing if she really was safe at all. I cuddled Nina and she whispered that she loved me, whispered like she thought it was a secret.

Roy threw some broken-off branches in a small heap in front of the hut and snapped his fingers over them.

Then he snapped them again. And nothing happened either time. Roy's eyes narrowed as he re-angled his hand as if aiming differently would come out with a different result.

"Is it wet?" I asked.

He shook his head, snapping again. "Maybe the stitching's severed somewhere. I've used this one a lot. It's kind of worn out."

"We can look at it later," I said. "Just grab another. My hair's still wet and I'm freezing."

Nina looked up at me. "Cold?"

I nodded, shivering still. "So cold."

Nina stood and walked over to the sticks, staring at them like they were an artistic sculpture. Roy shuffled through the duffel, grumbling something about a labyrinth.

"Nina, come back over here, sweetie," I said, rubbing my arms. "Daddy will get it done. Eventually."

"Make fire?" she asked, staring at the sticks. "For good things?"

"Yeah," said Roy, giving her a quick, proud look. "We're going to warm Mommy up before Mommy bites Daddy's head off for taking too long."

Nina nodded, smiling gently. "Okay."

I chuckled, beckoning her back over again. "Come on. Daddy's getting his glove. You need to stay out of the way, sweetie."

Nina kept by the sticks, staring at her fingertips. She stretched her arm out a little, tilted her hand, and snapped her fingers beautifully. Red currents circled her bare, child's fingertips as a small, controlled flame sparked like a match and set the sticks alight. The fire crackled as it came to life.

Nina turned to us, grinning with dimpled cheeks and baby teeth. "Nina made Mommy not be cold again."


	34. Chapter 34

Author's Note: I have the soundtrack from El Cazador de la Bruja chronically stuck in my head.

Lothmel: Writing Roy and Riza as parents is surprisingly easy. I know I've taken liberties, but it's still surprisingly easy. I think they'd be a cool daddy/mommy team.

mixmax300: Hey, my dad would love to pummel any guy who came within range of me or my sister. Roy just has a special, high-temperature method of being protective, haha!

Hakimu: Nina is so badass.

Hawkstang: I've been called stuff but in a more feminine tense, if you get me (but that's high school; 'slut' is often a pet-name). My dad called me a bitch behind my back, but not to my face. I love him for that :) Ha!

PhantomhiveHost: I was always tempted, if I ever wrote about Roy and Riza having a kid, to have Edward call their baby 'Sparky Junior.' It just seems so right.

ClassyAnimeNerd: Thanks bunches! I've worked hard on it. Keep reading. It's getting good!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-four: Family Issues

"This isn't good," said Roy, like it was news to me.

He hadn't said a word since Nina had lit the fire half an hour ago. I knew him and he wasn't being cold or trying to distance himself from the situation. He was figuring it out. I had Nina curl up for a nap. Roy usually ended up carrying her at around this time when we were walking and it had become clear to us by now that she was still young enough to have naps during the day. Now that her mouth was letting out sighing, sleeping breaths, Roy was finally ready to address the issue at hand.

"This is a problem, Lieutenant," he said, stepping out of the hut expecting me to follow.

"Is it making you feel better to be a soldier instead of a parent right now, sir?" I asked.

Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. "No. I guess not."

I watched him look down at Nina's crackling handiwork; tidy, contained, adeptly done. He shook his head, looking pained. "She did good. She's really good. That wasn't a lucky shot."

"She's good," I agreed.

"She's got to be the most valuable baby in the world right now," said Roy. "Drachma's Fire Alchemy research team has to have some idea of what Nina's capable of. Word's going to spread. She's going to have every country on the map—every government, every black market, every extremist organization—out looking for her nonstop until the day she dies."

"Yes," I said. "But stop thinking politics for a second and start thinking alchemy. Being pursued isn't relevant right now."

Roy knit his brow, almost offended at my apparent indifference. "Are you worried about her alchemy? I mean, it's not a good sign, but at least she's not using her life force this time."

I must have looked less stoic than I was aiming for, because Roy took my shoulders, locked his eyes with mine, and said, "What is it, Lieutenant?" His expression was grave and I wondered if it was to match mine.

I tried to keep eye contact, but I ended up looking away. "Healing me came from her own life force. Hers. It was a sacrifice, but it was her sacrifice to make." I breathed shakily, worriedly, fighting panic. "But where did she get that spark from? She doesn't know anything about the alchemy she uses. She doesn't even know how to read the notes that get burned into her hands at night. Roy, she wasn't wearing a pyrotex glove. There's no way I can think of that the spark came from her. Not even a person's life force could bring out my father's research from nothing. So where did it come from? And what did she have to sacrifice to get it if it wasn't hers to take?"

Roy was frozen, staring at the fire. Its perfect flames cascaded over one another in a warm liquid dance, the dry sticks smoldering and glowing in embers underneath. He'd instructed her well; Nina had made good fire.

"What are you saying?" Roy asked in a low tone, not accusatory but more just desperate to understand.

"We saw Ed a few months ago."

"Right. He knew something?"

I shrugged like a disclaimer. "He didn't think he knew something, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. He told me he'd been having a lot of nightmares after he'd gone through the Gate so many times. The most current one was a repetitive dream about a little girl waiting at the Portal of Truth. He said she'd given herself in full to the Portal as the price for her gaining the most powerful form of alchemy. My father always used to say that was Flame Alchemy."

Roy took my arm like he needed to get my attention, like he didn't already have it. His eyes were exceeding their dark focus and stirring into wild voids. His gaze was terrified and the only thing capable of terrifying Roy was the idea of losing someone he wasn't sure he could do without.

He shook his head, gripping my arm hard like he was holding onto the edge of a cliff. "It's just a dream. Let's not get superstitious."

"Roy," I said, putting my hand over his as it held onto my arm. "Edward said there was nothing he could do for her. He woke up screaming…" I took a breath. "…because there was nothing he could do for her."

"You're going to trust Edward Elric's reoccurring nightmare as intel?"

"Roy," I said faintly, my legs suddenly feeling light and my head feeling heavy.

"It's not her," Roy said, looking back at Nina's sleeping little body, rising and falling with every gentle breath. "Come up with something else. That's an order."

"Sir." I thought I would cry. That would've been my normal reaction. But my body didn't seem to be able to comprehend tears. "Sir, I…" My legs felt like toothpicks holding me up. "Roy…?"

I held onto a handful of his shirt and leaned my forehead into his shoulder. My knees wobbled and Roy perked up and caught me.

"Hey," he said, holding me. "Don't do this, Riza. It was just a dream. Fullmetal's been through a lot and he's probably had too many nightmares to remember. Don't work yourself up over nothing."

I pulled away and staggered to Nina, dropping to my knees next to her. Roy stepped beside me.

"Don't work yourself up," he said.

I brushed Nina's forehead. She was still under temperature from being in the lake. She was sleeping so heavy, I chanced scooping her limp body into my arms. I hugged her and kissed her cheek and shared my warmth. She didn't stir.

"She's conked out," Roy chuckled.

I nodded, my face numb.

"There's no credibility behind dreams, Riza. None."

I nodded.

"Riza, she'll be alright. It's just the effects of the experiments done on her in Drachma. We'll teach her to deal with it."

I nodded, leaning back on the hut wall and cradling Nina against my chest. I closed my eyes and I kept them closed.

…

Nina ate dinner in a half-sleep, barely awake to chew. I ended up hand-feeding her, pinching off bites of skewered mystery fish and poking them into her wet pink lips. She fell asleep with her head in my lap before she'd even finished half. I wanted to wake her up again, but Roy said she'd wake up wanting more later.

He'd transmuted something better than an open hut while I'd dozed with Nina earlier. It was something like a small house split into two rooms. One room would be for sleeping in and the other would be for stuff like privacy. We bundled Nina up in one of Roy's shirts and laid her between the two of us in the place she squirmed into when she was awake to do it.

"Riza," said Roy, reaching over Nina to lay his hand on my back, wrapping his arm loosely around both of us. "She'll be alright. We just have to lay low. Keeping her safe from the bad guys is our priority right now."

"You don't have to say it anymore," I said softly, gazing into the dark, know my eyes were on him. "Unless you need to keep hearing it."

Roy let go. I fell asleep.

The early morning was spent rushing to get breakfast caught and maybe a do little kissing before Nina woke up and slowed us down.

We spent the more sunny hours waiting to eat.

We ate without her, saving some for her.

Then we spent some time watching her and chuckling together, giving each other melancholy smiles as she slept. We said things like, "She must have really tired herself out yesterday," and, "Poor baby's out like a light."

Then noon came and we realized we were getting hungry for lunch. So Roy went to wake her up.

I cupped my hands into the stream and splashed the water over my face, tilting my head back to let some of the droplets run into my hair. I hugged my knees and stared at the sparkling surface of the stream, watching it ripple and run. Roy was right about Edward's dream. Edward was right about Edward's dream. Just a dream. Not credible.

…But the dream made sense.

The nightmare made sense.

"Riza!" Roy shouted from the hut. The fact that he'd called from the hut rather than stepped out to make himself more audible disturbed me. "Riza, she's not waking up!"

I ran.

He had her laying floppily in his arms, holding her above his lap like he was afraid to set her down. I dropped next to him and waited to see her chest rise.

"Is she breathing?" I asked.

"You think I'd just be sitting here holding her if she wasn't?"

I didn't retaliate. I was too relieved to be ticked off.

"You tried shaking her?" I asked.

"Anything short of whiplash."

I grabbed Nina's hand and pinched the skin under her knuckle, pulling it up slightly and twisting my fingers. She didn't stir, didn't even falter her breaths.

"Don't do that," said Roy, pushing my hand away.

"She should've woken up just then."

"I told you. She's not waking up."

"Dunk her in the water."

We stripped her down and dunked her. We pulled her out only to find she was no longer just deadweight, but slick, trembling deadweight. Her body shivered as we dried and redressed her, but that was the only reaction we got.

"She doesn't have a fever," I said, rocking her merely to rock myself.

"That's good," said Roy, snapping a fresh fire. "Do you think she hit her head yesterday?"

"We didn't take our eyes off her."

Roy leaned against one of the bedroom walls, throwing his head back and groaning in frustration. "This shouldn't be happening."

I hugged onto Nina, her body cold and still like a corpse. "Yes, it should," I said. "It's her price for using Flame Alchemy yesterday."

Roy looked at me, his eyes cutting. "This is serious."

"Yes, it is," I said. "It doesn't matter where we got the information from, dream or otherwise. If Nina was forced into giving herself to the Gate then, though we may not be able to undo it, we can at least know what we're dealing with and how to help her."

"Stop."

"Roy, we have to accept it as a possibility."

"No," said Roy. He glared at me like I'd done something horrible to him. "No, you don't get it. You don't mess with the Gate. You don't try to negotiate with equivalent exchange. If Nina's been sacrificed to the Gate then that's it. All we can do is watch until the Gatekeeper makes her pay up. It's over, done, understand? We can't help her. She's gone." Roy looked hard at me, shaking his head firmly. "So it can't be her. Now, think of something else." He trailed off, his eyes growing distant like he was hiding from me. "Even if it's stupid."

I tried to come up with something for him. "Grumman sent Nina to us to test your endurance, an initiation to becoming Fuhrer. Every time you pass one phase, the next one gets harder. Like boot camp. Nina Camp. You're doing great, honey."

Roy forced a smile then looked away and muttered, "Damn Portal," under his breath.

First I heard her little voice sighing and then I felt her move her arms in a gentle stretch. I didn't even speak. I didn't have to. Roy was with us in seconds, hovering over her. Nina sucked on her lip for a moment then smacked her mouth open to yawn, squinting up her eyes before letting them flutter open. I loved it when she woke up naturally rather than waking up on fire.

"You alright?" Roy asked her, touching her soft cheek.

"Sleepy," she said, snuggling into my arms. "I go to timeout. Me and Daddy made a pretty fire and the person…the person said I had to go to timeout and I sat in front of my door all alone for lots of hours by myself."

"Your door?" Roy asked, taking her hand like he was holding a flower petal.

"My door," Nina said proudly. "My big door. All mine." She released Roy's hand and cuddled into me. "I got the best door. The person gives me the nice one and I make good fire forever."

Roy looked at me, drained of color. "I prefer your version with Nina Camp."


	35. Chapter 35

Author's Note: So, I've been thinking about writing a "part two" to this after it's complete (a ways from now), only the "part two" would focus more on Nina when she's older (and include more of the original characters from the series than this one has).

mixmax300: Yes, they really will wish it was Nina Camp. Actually, I'm starting to wish that for them, haha!

Noxy the Proxy: Aw, thanks! Always good to hear. I love enthusiastic readers. It makes me feel appreciated, haha.

Hawkstang: Yeah, Roy and Riza go through serious sh**. But my stories tend to have happy endings, so I'm okay with putting them through it. Oh, btw, daddy-issues make for great writing material, haha!

fullmetalmage2: Thanks! I used to suck at comic relief, and I mean SUCK. I'm really glad you liked it!

PhantomhiveHost: Oh, Nina. She's already been through hell once and now here I go putting her through it again. Haha!

verry-chan: Roy wasn't going to be a full-fledged dad until he exhibited a bit of over-protectiveness over his little girl. It had to be done, ha!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-five: Family Discussion (but not so much)

Nina must have been the best behaved child in the history of time. She'd had so much practice being forced into submission back in Drachma that keeping quiet and still probably just came naturally to her now. Roy gave her a thick stick of charcoal from the dead fire and told her to decorate the walls.

"I want her to mess up all our walls when this is over," I said. "After we've found a real place. I want her to be around."

"Let's try not to start grieving over her before she's even…" Roy cleared his throat. He turned into the Colonel. "Just try to focus, Hawkeye."

"Sir."

Roy watched her in silence, his eyes washed out, his expression lank. "What can we do?"

"Maybe if she doesn't use alchemy," I said, "the Gate will leave her alone. You can't call it equivalent exchange if she doesn't use it."

"It doesn't work that way. She signed up for the potential and she clearly has that. Whether she uses it or not makes no difference."

"How will we know when?" I asked. "How will we know when her time is up?"

"I don't know," said Roy, folding his arms, staring at the ground. "I don't understand all of it yet."

"So, she could disappear right now?" I asked in a whisper, leaning at him. "No warning at all, just gone?"

"I don't know," said Roy. "I don't think it's likely."

I hugged my knees to my chest, curling into myself, burying my face in my knees. I felt Roy's arm slip around my shoulders, pulling me to him.

"This is my fault," I said, leaning my head more on my knees than on him.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"I did this to her," I said, unconsciously reaching my hand under my collar to my shoulders where the defaced tattoo remained. "I planted the concept of Flame Alchemy into the world."

"Riza, stop it," said Roy, shaking me a little like he was trying to wake me up. "Master Hawkeye was the one who created it. I was the one who made it a reality. He and I introduced it to the world. You had nothing to do with it."

"My father always implied that he wanted it to be you someday," I said softly. "But even if you hadn't accepted his wishes, I'm still the one who volunteered to make it happen."

"Riza," Roy said in a sigh, coaxing me out of my curled up ball. "No one could have seen this coming. Will you shut up about it if I agree with you and tell you you're a terrible person?"

I looked up at him. He was smiling. His eyes were thin and forlorn, but it was still a smile. I realized without notice that I had begun to smile back, though it was unstable.

"Mommy is a terrible person," Nina repeated proudly, coming between us to show us her charcoal-coated hands.

I reached for her, bringing her giggling body into my arms and letting her tiny fingers smudge black dust onto my face and clothes.

"Nina's a wonderful person," I said, spoofing her cheek. "I love you so much."

"Riza," Roy interrupted, smiling halfway, indicating he wanted to smile fully but couldn't bring himself to. "I need books."

"Books?" I asked. "Or book-books?"

He looked grim. So it was alchemy research he was after, something to spur a lead. He had that stubborn independence on his lips, a tightness to his mouth when his face was still. "I'll be back."

"We're not splitting up," I said. I had Nina seated motionless on my lap now and my arms tightened around her. She watched Roy, understanding he was doing something I didn't like. "Bad things happen when we split up."

"It's not safe," he said.

"What if her hands catch fire while you're gone?" I asked. "I can't perform alchehestry to heal the burns."

I felt Nina shudder under my hold. She looked at me. "I don't love that to happen again."

Roy went rigid, recognizing that he was becoming the minority. "It's a lesser evil," he said, his voice taking on a defensive edge.

Nina stood to speak into my ear, seeming to think her version of a whisper was enough to keep Roy from hearing her. "I like Daddy to be here forever, okay?"

"No," said Roy, more replying to me than Nina. "One of you could get shot and I don't think public hospitals are really an option for any of us right now."

I felt my face hardening, my eyes setting on him fiercely. "I understand. You got freaked out when I nearly died from that bullet, right?"

"Should I not have?" Roy asked.

I frowned. I set Nina down next to me and stood, standing to face him. "For a steady week you were either screaming from your wounds or moaning through a fever. I held your shoulders down with my knees to keep you from thrashing while I sewed you back together with my travel-sized sewing kit. You bled straight through all seventeen of my towels back at my apartment. You got blood on my daddy's good work-shirt on the train to Clover Valley. I stayed up with you for nights just to make sure you didn't stop breathing while I was looking away. Need I go on, sir?"

Roy stepped back from me, trying to be subtle about it. "I'm sorry."

"You went in without backup when you got shot. I went in without backup when I got shot. When we split up," I said, stepping toward him, "When we go in without back-up, bad things happen." I forced a bitter smile. "So, obviously the perfect solution here is for you to go into a public area without backup and leave your wife and three-year-old daughter in the middle of nowhere with a hundred Nina-hunters coming at us from every direction—oh, yeah, without backup."

Roy caught Nina sniffling before I did and he got to her first so he could be the good guy. He told her not to be scared, that Mommy was just upset, that nobody was going to die, that it wasn't Nina's fault. I didn't even turn to face them.

"Roy," I said softly, my back to him. "You wouldn't take me to a doctor after I got hurt. It was like you thought if you could convince me that I didn't need a doctor, I'd miraculously get better." I paused. "And I almost died."

He was silent.

"You're doing it again," I said. "Trying to solve things by willing them to go the way you want them to."

I turned to him and Nina, squatting in front of them. I met Roy's tensely subdued gaze and ran my fingers through the top of his hair like I might have done to a little boy. "We need to keep our heads clear on this one, Fuhrer King Husband. Let's not trade our sense of reason for fear."

Nina was silent, wide eyed, waiting to see what would happen next. Roy finally broke down and smiled.

"Alright, Lieutenant Hawkeye," he said, taking my cheek in his hand. His eyes creased into something playful. "I guess that makes sense."

Nina stood and flung her arms around my neck. "Best ever!"

I laughed. She didn't even know what she was celebrating but she seemed really excited. Nina's tummy growled and she didn't even flinch. She just kept hugging me.

"Nina, are you hungry?" I asked.

She nodded, continuing to hug me.

"You want something to eat?" Roy asked, already on his feet.

Nina nodded again.

Roy and I chuckled.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Roy asked.

Nina let go of me, her face nearly expressionless, puzzled. "Why?"

Roy blinked. "Because we would have fed you."

Nina smiled wildly like Roy was handing her the world. "Okay!"

I patted her back, feeling her bony shoulders jutting under her skin. "We'll feed you," I said. "Your name isn't 'Bitch' anymore, sweetheart."

"Okay!" she said. "I like this one."

"Alright," said Roy, scooping Nina out of my arms and hefting her under his arm like she was a bundle of wheat. "Stop gushing. Someone skipped two meals out of three. We've got some catching up to do."

Nina cackled, wriggling. I rolled my eyes. Commanding a unit of soldiers was power, but handling a child seemed like ultimate domination to Roy. I didn't have the heart to tell him that Nina was the one who had him wrapped around her finger and not the other way around. I stood up and moved to join them outside in the warmth of the afternoon.

I didn't make it to the door before hearing the gunfire.

Nina's instant sobbing came immediately after and then Roy was shouting for her to get back inside. I froze in my steps, my mind splitting between going to them immediately or running back to grab a revolver and an ignition glove. Then I heard more gunfire and I couldn't keep my feet from taking me to Roy and Nina unarmed.

Nina waited at the doorway, peering through in plain sight. I grabbed her from behind and she jumped in her skin, crying. She saw it was me and clung. It was agony having to peel her off, but comforting her would have to wait until later. I heard Roy calling for me amongst gunfire and the sounds of transmutations rippling from the earth.

"I'm here!" I yelled back.

I took Nina to the separate room and set her against the wall in the corner with the worst vantage point from potential shooters. "Stay here," I said, rummaging for my gun and his glove. "Don't come out unless you hear Mommy or Daddy calling you. Got it?"

Nina nodded, weeping into her hands.

"Good girl." I gathered up our weapons and headed out.

"Love you," Nina whimpered. "A lot."

"We'll be right back for you," I said. "Promise."

I was more just promising myself.

There were five of them from what I could tell and they weren't like the men who'd come after us from before. For one, they actually did well at staying out of range from us. They were good with guns, but they knew more than just how to shoot. That much was clear even without being able to see them well.

They were good marksmen from the distances they were shooting at and Roy was holding them off on his own, without his glove or any other tool besides his clap-transmutations. Despite the direness of the situation, coming out and tossing him his glove, I felt a little prideful that he'd married me out of every other girl he could have had.

I whipped out my revolvers and ducked beside Roy behind a barricade he had transmuted from the ground. The gunfire was still pretty consistent, so I assumed the opposition wasn't short of ammunition. I'd dug up two handguns, but my supply of bullets was limited. I looked at Roy and he looked out at our odds.

"Nina?" he asked.

"Inside," I replied.

He pulled on his glove. "I'd rather not kill anyone in front of her."

"Don't get excessive," I said. "But don't get merciful at our expenses. It's not worth the risk."

"I know," he said.

But sometimes he needed to hear it out loud.

The sharp pound of bullets hit at Roy's wall like a violent woodpecker. I could hear fragments chipping off in hunks. We'd have to act soon.

"They're moving in," said Roy, his voice down as he tried to listen through the chaos. "It's going to be bad once they get on the roof."

"Orders?"

"Keep me covered. We'll do this clean."

I listened for hints at gunmen's positions, for hints at breaks in their fire. There was no good time to move. These guys were smart enough to fire and reload at separate times from one another, so Roy and I were always on the defensive.

I raised my guns, cocking each with steady thumbs. Roy stood almost back-to-back with me, his eyes steadfast toward the breaking wall. He clapped his hands together, ready to take it down for our offense.

But a bullet took it down for him.

He and I both caught on before the wall came all the way down, though I instinctively waited for Roy to duck down first before I let down my guard. I saw at that moment that there were six shooters instead of the five I'd initially counted. I wondered if I'd miscounted before or if there were others further off where even I couldn't sense them.

Roy snapped a quick wave of fire toward the shooters to give us brief cover as we retreated back to the house, shielded by the entrance. Roy pulled off to the corner, examining a small patch of blood seeping around his side where he'd made himself vulnerable lifting his arm to snap his fingers.

"You hit?" I asked, forcing myself to watch for our attackers and not watch him.

"Just grazed me," he said, lifting his shirt in my peripheral. "False alarm."

I relaxed my shoulders, relieved. I heard a shot glance off the doorway. Our enemy was getting bolder realizing we weren't offering a second attack.

"I've got three in plain sight," I said.

Roy pulled back down his shirt. "Go."

It wasn't safe to risk firing without a better than good chance of hitting my targets. I didn't have the bullets to me sloppy. I'd have to be perfect. Roy snapped more intense flames this time in the general direction of the gunfire. I came to the doorway and swung one of my guns out, shooting three times—bang, bang, bang. I watched just long enough to see the bodies drop before Roy yanked me back.

"You got them?" he asked.

I nodded. "They're gone."

The sound of gunshots was still fairly constant, but less concentrated. There would be much more likelihood now of there being a break in the gunfire, an opportunity to come out and take care of the rest. I watched Roy in his tenseness as he held himself back. The shooters were smart to keep to the trees. As they were, Roy couldn't send flames at them without lighting the entire forest on fire.

I caught footsteps from the other room, but they were the last footsteps I wanted to hear. They were short and padded, light like a little doll's. Nina sniffled.

"Daddy will die very soon," she said, coming into the room. Her eyes held to the insignificant bloodstain on Roy's side from the graze. "Daddy is going to die."

"Go back, Nina," I said from watching the door. "Daddy's fine."

"Daddy?" Nina said, reaching for him as she came toward us.

"I'm alright. Go hide."

I'd sighted each of our remaining three and they were getting too close. "Roy, they're here."

"Daddy is dying," Nina said to me, approaching us. She reached up and grabbed at the hem of Roy's shirt.

"Do you have a clear shot?"

"I would have taken it by now," I said. "There are too many trees. I can't afford to waste bullets. These guys are better than what we had in Clover and they've stopped underestimating us."

Roy jerked me back again as another bullet came close to ricocheting off the doorway. Our house's walls and roof were starting to sound crackly with all the hits.

Nina pulled at Roy. "This gun," she said, pointing toward the gunfire. "This gun made Mommy die. This gun made Daddy die. I don't like this one."

Roy brushed her to the side again. "I'm not going to die."

"Roy," I said, cocking my guns. "She should stay with us. They're too close now."

"Do you have a shot?"

"They're not stupid enough to come out that far."

Nina reached up for Roy again without him noticing. "I don't love it." She stood on the tips of her toes and yanked at a handful of his shirt. Roy was caught off guard and made the mistake of wincing when the shirt rubbed against his scratch from the bullet.

"Damn!" he hissed. "That stings to hell."

Nina released him, horrified. Another bullet glanced past the door, this time making a gaping crack at the other side of the doorway. I leaned out and took a blind shot, a waste of ammunition. Roy pulled me in before I could take another.

"You want to get killed?" he said, his eyes molten. "Don't waste your bullets."

"Don't get killed," said Nina anxiously, becoming desperate. "I hate it."

Bullets were coming more now. They were being aimed mostly toward the doorway at the weak point where it had begun to crack. Our barrier was becoming unstable. Roy and I moved toward the other room. Nina broke off from us. She ran to the doorway.

Roy and I seemed to yell for her simultaneously, both of us going after her on instinct without considering that it would have been more efficient if just one of us had gone.

"Nina!" I shouted, bolting to the door.

Nina was small, but she was incredibly swift on her feet. She was there before either of us could reach her. Roy transmuted a wall to block the bullets before she could get hit, but neither of us was able to get to her before she had smacked her hands together. Neither of us was there in time to stop her from snapping her fingers with both of her baby hands; sending flames bursting past Roy's wall, weaving past the trees with too much precision, engulfing our attackers in a violent glow, devouring their bodies. They rolled on the ground, shrieking, burning.

"I hate you!" Nina screamed. "I hate you forever and you should leave me alone!"

I grabbed her away, hugging her shaking body. Roy broke down the remnants of his protected wall and ran toward our attackers to check for casualties. If men died, they wouldn't die by the hands of our child.

"Go away!" Nina yelled to the men rolling on the ground in the distance. "I'm not yours. I hate you!"

I picked her up and she thrashed in my arms as I carried her from the door.

"Daddy!" Nina screamed. "Daddy, don't go away!"

"Shush, baby," I said. "Don't make yourself tired."

"Daddy!"

I had to hold onto her to keep her from wriggling out of my arms. I felt my eyes pricking. I told myself now wasn't the time to cry. Roy ran back in, panting, rattled. I helped Nina into his arms. He seemed caught off guard by her urgency.

"Don't go!" she said. Over and over, she said, "Don't go, don't go, don't go."

Roy held her and she latched onto him like a little parasite. "It's just a scratch, Nina. The gun didn't get me. I'm not going anywhere."

She sobbed into his shoulder, clinging tight.

I gave him a look. "So…?"

"Alive," he said gravely. "They're not going to look the same, but they're alive. I brought you a little ammo and I torched the rest. They'll make it if they can limp to a doctor in the next day or so."

"Which isn't our problem," I said.

He nodded grimly. "They're not coming back."

Nina whimpered. "Sorry."

"It's okay," said Roy. "You got scared, but we're here now."

"Sorry," she said again, pressing her teary face into his shoulder. "I made bad fire that hurt someone and I did it by myself."

"Yeah," said Roy. "You hurt them really bad, Nina. And that's not your job. You can't do that ever again."

She cried louder. I had to admit, it was more than harsh for him to put it so bluntly, especially for her tender ears, but she needed to hear it. I was proud of him for bringing himself to make her cry.

"Sorry," she sniffled. "Sorry."

"We forgive you, Nina," I said, patting her back. "We love you even when you mess up."

She seemed to like the sound of that. She sniffed and nuzzled deep into Roy's arms, her eyelids dropping. "Sleepy."

"Nina?" said Roy, jiggling her lightly.

"Sorry." She sighed, her body relaxing. "Okay."

I came closer and touched her cold face. "Nina, look at Mommy."

Her eyes stayed shut and her breathing became gentler and longer. I gestured Roy to put her down, to keep from cradling her and making her comfortable. She'd transmuted more than just a spark to light a campfire this time. Roy and I weren't ready to watch her face her next price.

"Nina?" Roy said, trying to set her floppy body on the ground. "Open your eyes."

Her knees buckled under her, her posture limp. I shook my head. "Pick her up. She's asleep."

"Forget the books," he said, pulling her up. "We need to go. Keep your guns on you."

I walked into the other room and just stood there for a while, staring at the smudgy swirls of charcoal marks etched across the walls.


	36. Chapter 36

Author's Note: So, as you've probably gathered from my rising action (and my mounting count of chapters), this story is approaching its completion. Just a heads up.

PhantomhiveHost: There is a long list of things that Nina Mustang deserves. XP

mixmax300: Yep, she's definitely a round character. :D

Hawkstang: Yeah, like they weren't a cool enough team already. Bring on the Toddler Torch!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-six: Losing Her

I tried to tell myself that being constantly on the move through the barren terrain was making Nina's condition worse, but in all honesty, having her hands on fire every other hour would have been awful no matter where we were.

"She's just getting worse," Roy said, holding her limp hands on the transmutation circle, healing her palms as she quickly slipped back into sleep.

We'd been going five days, five excruciating days. Nina had slept in our arms through most of it, waking from a violent dream with flames blazing from her fingers at least once every few hours. Roy would talk her down and she'd usually pass out again before her hands had even cooled. We did our best to keep her awake long enough to get her to eat and drink water when we had the opportunity, but she was already looking weaker. Roy and I had stopped talking about it after the second day and now we weren't talking about anything anymore.

I knelt with Roy and held Nina's hands, looking at the tiny scarred spots, some on her fingertips, a few dappling the skin of her palms. They were the places we hadn't been able to heal in time, the places that I could see no matter how faded they seemed. "Roy, we need answers."

"Saying it won't get us any."

He'd been on edge and hadn't seemed to be taking into account that I had every right to be on edge with him. I couldn't tell him to keep his head, though. I just couldn't. Not with this.

"We can't keep running," he said, lifting her. "We're protecting ourselves from the wrong things."

"Where can we go?" I asked.

We'd gone fast and we'd gone far. Keeping track of where we were had been low on our priorities. The direction of civilization was hazy at this point.

I walked beside him. "Stop walking. If we're changing courses then you're just wasting energy."

Roy stood still, agitated. "Tell me you have an idea."

"If we could get to a phone I could call Edward."

Roy laughed bitterly, masking irritation. "I meant ideas as to getting to a phone in the first place."

"There's nothing." I said it because it was true.

"No," he said. "That means you've stopped thinking. Keep thinking."

Nina whimpered in his arms and the two of us flinched like we'd been stung. I rubbed her sleeping body. Roy looked down at me and watched me rub her back. He put his hand on mine and we held onto Nina together.

"We're not giving up, Riza," he said, looking hard at me. "It doesn't matter what's rational right now. We're not soldiers. We're a family." He squeezed my hand, his eyes charged with restless energy. "We were happy with that."

I smiled halfheartedly. "I'm mad at myself for not being an alchemist right now."

"You feel useless?"

"I don't know how to help her."

"I don't either," said Roy. "Being an alchemist has nothing to do with it. You need something to be mad about?"

"I guess I do."

"It would be better if you weren't mad at yourself."

I nodded. "You're right."

"We can't get discouraged."

I nodded. Nina whimpered again.

"Dammit, Roy! This isn't working. There's nothing."

Nina started breathing faster, panicky, and her whimpers turned to sobs. Roy caught on as her palms began to glow like embers and he quickly set her down, muttering, "Too soon."

"No," I said on impulse, watching.

Nina's hands lit up, the flames wild and spread out, growing past her wrists. Roy shook her, begging her to wake up. I knelt in front of her, slipping off one of her shoes and tickling the bottom of her foot. It had worked once a couple of days ago and we held onto what worked. Nina stirred but did not open her eyes.

"Keep doing it," said Roy, continuing to shake her. "Don't stop."

I kept tickling, the same way my father had done to me when I'd refused to get out of bed before school. If there was one thing I had never slept through, it was someone messing with my feet.

Nina's mouth shaped the word, "Stop."

I tickled up her leg under the bend in her knee. She twitched. There was a slight falter in her breathing. She took a sharp breath and her eyes peeled slowly open, dazed and hazy. She winced. Then she screamed.

"Stop, stop, stop!" she wailed, sitting up and wagging her hands. "Stop it!"

"Nina, calm down," said Roy. "Calm down, remember?"

"Ow!" she cried.

I held her arms still to keep her from catching her own clothes on fire. "Nina, listen to Daddy. Just breathe."

She shrieked, watching the flames crawling over her wrists. "Ow!"

"Riza, let go. It's creeping up."

I tried to get Nina to meet my eyes. "No, I'm not worried. Nina's a strong girl. She's going to take some deep breaths and the fire's going to be all gone."

Nina sniffled through her sobbing breaths, looking at me. Things were different for her when she thought Roy or I was depending on her. I'd gotten her attention.

"Now do what Daddy told you," I said. "The fire doesn't belong there so don't let it stay. You're not its fuel, baby. Don't let it live off of you."

Nina swallowed, her wet blue eyes locked on me. Tears seeped over her face in quiet trickles. The fire extinguished itself completely without her even having to concentrate on it this time and I knew that over the past five days she'd had too much practice.

"Sorry," she said, crumpling. "Sorry."

Roy drew a circle in the ground and healed her burns as best as he could. "This is what happens when you hand Flame Alchemy to a baby."

"Babies can't hold back," I said, giving Nina a reassuring smile. "They don't know how. For the first few years of a child's life, adults hold the restraints for them. She has to hold her own restraints. I guess it makes sense that she'd overdo it. What happened at the lakeside...It makes sense."

Roy pet her short hair. "Then we should have seen this coming before."

I fed Nina some crackers. She drank from the canteen like she'd been walking in a desert.

"Sleepy," she said, coming to sit on my lap.

"Not yet," I said, kissing her forehead. It was too soon, in more ways than one. Roy looked at me. I picked Nina up and paced around. "See those trees? How many are there? Can you count the trees with me?"

"Don't know."

I'd been trying to teach Nina her numbers in intervals to give her mind something to do when she was awake. She was constantly hazy and forgot most of them nearly as soon as she learned them.

"Let's do it together," I said, continuing forward, closer to a clump of pines. "I see one tree. I see two trees. I see…what comes after two?"

Nina leaned on my shoulder, closing her eyes. "Don't know."

"Stay awake, baby."

Roy came beside me. "I see three trees."

Nina opened her eyes like little slits and smiled faintly at him. "Three trees."

"Oh," I said. "So she'll stay awake for you."

"I see four trees," said Roy, focused on her.

"Four trees," Nina yawned.

Roy smiled to encourage her. "I see five…"

Roy came to a dead stop. I felt his hand on my arm. I stopped beside him. Nina looked up at him and finished his sentence for him, "See five trees." Roy shushed her with a finger to her lips. Nina cuddled into me with her eyes straining open, fighting to stay awake now that she'd found something interesting to stay awake for.

Roy took a long, drawn out breath and then he sighed. "I see one body."

He walked forward and didn't protest when I walked forward with him. As we approached the trees, I caught from his angle the silhouette of a shoed foot poking out from a tall shroud of brush. I tightened my grasp on Nina and stopped ten feet shy. Roy continued, approaching cautiously, though not with the same tenseness he would have had if he'd had any suspicion there were others hanging around. I wondered why there'd only be signs of one. I wondered how long the one had been left dead there. I wondered how he'd died.

He stepped through the bushes, past my line of sight. He knelt, silent, peering. Then I saw his eyes widen and his face turn milky. He stood up abruptly, his hand holding his chin.

"That bad?" I whispered.

He shook his head, his eyes locked on the body. "I know her," he said. "And she's not dead."


	37. Chapter 37

WARNING: Once again, if you weren't paying attention last update, this story is nearing completion. Just an FYI.

Author's Note: I feel really bad about my cliffhanger :P I thought I was going to be able to update, like, the next day, but then my grandma went into the hospital and my parents both had to go out of town and I got stuck babysitting my siblings for spring break. Not too bad, but I was definitely too busy to do much updating. Sorry for anyone who doesn't like to be left hanging. Haha. Here's to planning ahead being a complete waste of time.

PhantomhiveHost: Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you hanging quite that long...Oops? Haha.

mixmax300: Oh, my gosh. I'm so sorry for making you wait, haha. But, hey-the fact that you were upset you got cut off is kind of a good sign, am I right?

Hawkstang: Thanks! This chapter's going to fill readers in on some stuff, so I hope you'll enjoy it. You always seem to notice the details.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-seven: Finally, some answers.

Roy stepped through the bushes, past my line of sight. He knelt, silent, peering. Then I saw his eyes widen and his face turn milky. He stood up abruptly, his hand holding his chin.

"That bad?" I whispered.

He shook his head, his eyes locked on the body. "I know her," he said. "And she's not dead."

…

Anya was thin, her skin looking pulled at the places where her bones were more prominent. She was blindingly drained against her ripples of black hair. Life was faint in her uneven breaths. She seemed fragile, brittle almost.

I kept Nina turned from seeing her while Roy looked her over. He called her Bagrov when he referred to her out loud instead of Anya so that Nina wouldn't take too much interest. He muttered that she hadn't been ahead of us by much. I mentioned that there was no sign of struggle. She'd collapsed on her own. We were still free of any nearby pursuers.

"She's out cold," Roy said, lifting her gaunt frame into his arms and out from the tangled bushes. "But she's breathing."

I stepped back with Nina, who was falling asleep again. This time I didn't try to fight her on it. Roy and I didn't have to say it to each other to come to the silent understanding that Nina didn't need to see this. Roy set Anya down under the cover of a thick-trunked oak. I felt Nina grow heavy in my arms. Her breathing switched into whistling snores.

"It's really her?" I asked, kneeling with him.

Roy nodded. "She's lost at least thirty pounds, but yeah. It's her straight from her picture in the military magazine."

She was wearing a grey pants-suit that hung on her like she'd filled it out more when she'd bought it. It was a little worn from travel and from her lying on the ground, but besides that, the suit looked well-kept compared to her body inside of it. She was emaciated, anemic, and sunken in, but not the same as Nina was. Anya looked sick, not neglected.

"Try to wake her up," I said. "Who knows how long she's been out? She's probably dehydrated."

"It's not like she's just sleeping," said Roy. "I can't just tap her on the shoulder and say, 'Rise and shine.'"

"Tickle her feet."

"Ha. Ha. Ha."

Anya breathed deep and let out a moan, writhing a little. Roy and I tensed, both of us leaning over her on impulse. Her eyelids fought at opening.

She parted her white lips into a trembling slit. "Flame Alchemist?"

Roy hunched over her. "Are you Anya Bagrov?"

The corners of her mouth showed signs of a withered smile as her eyes drifted onto me and onto Nina. "She's here. She's with you."

"That's right," Roy said.

"You should try to drink some water," I said. "You're dehydrated."

Anya's face slackened. "I'm fine." She swallowed. "How is she?"

Roy folded his arms. That was a complicated question. "You didn't mention the torch-hands in the letter."

"Sorry," said Anya faintly. "There was no guarantee you'd be the first to read it. She's getting worse?"

"She started using her alchemy," Roy said. "Then it got worse."

Anya flinched in her stillness, meeting Roy's eyes. "What did she do?"

I held Nina close against my chest. "She healed my arm from an infected bullet wound using her own life force," I said.

Roy nodded. "She snapped a spark for a campfire a few days later then the next day she took out three gunmen. It's been five days since and she's slept through most of it. She's sleeping now."

"She did that?" Anya asked rhetorically. Her brow creased with anxiety. "I told her not to."

"Yeah," said Roy. "We did too."

"She did it without a glove," I said, scooting forward. "She snapped her fingers and created a spark without a pyrotex ignition glove. How is that possible? Alchemy shouldn't be able to go that far on its own."

"The burns," said Anya wearily. "Have they started to leave scars?"

Roy sank into himself. "Sometimes we just can't talk her down in time."

"The flames in her hands when she sleeps," said Anya, swallowing in the back of her dry throat. "They aren't punishment. They're not an accident. The flames have a different quality to regular fire. They alter the composition of the flesh when it heals back to give her the ability to perform Flame Alchemy without pyrotex gloves…" Anya paused to catch her breath. "Or any other outside assistance. They aren't normal scars. Her skin is trying to burn itself into a human match, ready to be struck."

Roy reached over and took one of Nina's hands, checking the slight discolorations on her fingertips. "The Gate is doing this to her?"

"She's getting tired because you keep healing her," said Anya, her eyelids trying to drop. "The Gate's been doing its job at taking the necessary steps to turn her into an undefeatable alchemist, but every time it makes headway, we undo it by healing her with alchehestry." Anya breathed, her eyes resting for a moment. "Every time she rejects the Gate's efforts, the Gate pulls her in because she's rejecting the laws of equivalent exchange."

"Yeah, like we even have the choice," said Roy. "We can't just let the burns run their course."

Anya breathed. "No, of course you can't."

Roy looked at me like he thought I had something to say. I frowned at him only to realize I had something to say after all.

"Anya, why did you give Nina to us? We all ended up in the same place, didn't we? You clearly know a lot more about her than we do."

Anya looked at me quizzically. "Nina?"

I felt my face burning with a blush. I'd forgotten that Nina hadn't always been called 'Nina'.

"We weren't going to call her 'Subject 21,'" said Roy.

Anya smiled weakly. "That's nice. Nina's a nice name. I'll bet she's wild about it."

"She is," I said. "She's really come out of her shell."

Anya looked to the side. I began to speak again, to ask what Nina was like back in Drachma, but then I saw something in Anya's expression that bothered me and I shut my mouth. Anya's dry eyes shone wet and dewy and her drained skin turned red around her nose and under her eyes. Her breathing trembled in her lungs and she smiled in a tight, melancholy line. And then I saw it. Under her heavy lids, smothered by glassy, bloodshot whites, her eyes glittered like pale blue diamonds. The same color as Nina's.

"You're her mother," I said. I cocked my head in disbelief. "You're Nina's mother."

Roy went instantly rigid. Anya kept her gaze averted to the side. A strained sob rippled over her and lurched in her chest, an inadequate trickle of a tear beading out from the inner corner of one of her blue eyes.

I felt my muscles tensing into disturbed shivers. "Are you dying?"

"I wanted to name her something girly," Anya said, too weak to cry. "But, that was before they named her 21. And she was born very sick."

Roy touched my hand and I could feel by the subdued tenseness in his hold that he was bothered by the turn things had taken.

Anya's expression sank. "Her biological father had said he wasn't interested in being a part of her life when I'd told him I was pregnant. But when she was born sick, I didn't have anyone else to turn to. I knew from the short time we'd dated that he worked in experimental research concerning alchemy. Back when we were dating, when he was still trying to impress me, he'd told me they were figuring out new ways to save lives. He said they were working on ways to save people who were as good as dead already. And that was my baby. There was nothing anyone could do for her. Her father was her only chance."

"You let him send her through the Portal?" Roy asked, displeased.

"I signed some papers that I shouldn't have signed," said Anya. "But it worked. The research team told me what to do when I got there and then they sent me through with her."

Anya shrank into herself and sniffed. I felt Nina's warmth in my arms. She was thin and weak, but her heartbeat was strong. Anya was so close to death it was like I could feel her life force leaking out of her and radiating through the air.

"You took her illness, didn't you?" I said, meeting Anya's eyes. "That's why you're dying. You took on Nina's broken genes so she could be strong."

"I was a healthy grown woman," said Anya, not meeting our eyes. "I had a chance at surviving my daughter's illness, a much better chance than she did at the time. I've made it almost three years. That's enough."

"And Flame Alchemy?" asked Roy. "Where does that factor in?"

Anya rotated her gaze onto him apologetically. "Those papers I signed gave me access to saving my daughter's life, but by signing the papers I sold her life to the research team. Because her first trip through the Portal was a success, they considered her a valuable subject. They worked her up to Flame Alchemy last year. They sent her through the Portal on her own without my consent or my knowledge. I'd only be allowed in to see her every few months until more recently. At first she showed no signs of having been affected afterword. Then about two months ago her hands started catching fire at night. Because I wasn't allowed to see her very often, it was getting too hard for me to keep hiding it. And then her hands started reacting more and more frequently. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up with the progression forever. And I was getting sicker, so when I got your letter…" Anya seemed suddenly sheepish, breathless from speaking. "My baby girl told me she'd seen a man watching her in the dark on the night she was supposed to be presented to the Fuhrer of Amnestris. That was you, wasn't it? You disappeared the next day. I'm well read on military heroes worldwide. It didn't take much for me to realize you wanted answers after that. From past newspapers and magazines, it seems that you and your Lieutenant have a knack for using the truth to protect others. My daughter was your answer—to everything. I trusted your reputation enough to believe she'd be safe with you. Safer than she would be at the lab. And, in the time I was given…"

"You didn't have anyone else to turn to," said Roy.

"It was a better risk than leaving her with her father," said Anya. "I thought that maybe with your success rate and your knowledge of Flame Alchemy, you might be able to help her, even."

"That's optimistic," said Roy, not bitterly but more defeated. I frowned at him for saying it nonetheless.

"Do you want to hold her?" I asked Anya, watching her chest rise and fall in fainter and fainter movements.

Anya smiled like she would've taken a bullet for me. She didn't have to speak. I came up on my knees and leaned over to rest Nina's sleeping body against her mother's.

"She's yours now, isn't she?" said Anya, stroking her baby. "I can tell. You're her family now. Even if you aren't husband and wife…"

"We're married," said Roy. "And we are her family. You don't have to worry about your daughter anymore." He'd become a little gentler, catching how still and heavy Anya had turned.

Anya smiled, just barely, in traces. "That's good. Thank you."

I petted Anya's shoulder soothingly. "We couldn't help it. She's wonderful. We couldn't help but love her."

Anya sniffled. "Does she call you 'Mama'?"

I nodded. "She calls me 'Mommy', usually."

"I wish she could've called me 'Mama'. I wish I could have called her something girly instead of '21'. I wish they would have let me see her more." Anya's voice broke. "I wish I could have seen her first smile or maybe been there for her first steps. I wanted to dress her up in pink dresses and put ribbons in her hair. I wanted to take her out for ice cream on her birthday. I wanted to teach her how to read."

I felt myself begin to shake and cry with Anya and I realized in shame that I wasn't crying because I was watching Anya feeling regrets at her deathbed. I was crying because listening to her talk about all the things she had wanted for Nina, I realized I wanted those things for Nina just as much. I was crying because we were losing Nina, too. I was crying because I was feeling Anya's regrets with her.

Anya sniffled, stifling a sob, hugging Nina frailly against her withered body. "I wanted to embarrass her in front of her friends when she went into secondary school and giggle with her when she talked about boys. I wanted her to meet a nice guy and have babies so I could have grandchildren that looked just like her. I wanted them to call me something cute, like 'Nana' or 'Mimi.' That's what I thought was going to happen when I went through the Gate with her. I thought we were going to…"

"Equivalent exchange is never quite our idea of equivalent," said Roy, now sharing in Anya's regret, too.

Anya nodded, her sobs dumbing down to soft quarter-breaths, cutting off at the ends because her lungs were becoming too weak to fill all the way. "But…it was enough."

"Yes," I said.

"It was enough," Anya repeated. "And…you'll be here."

"Yeah," said Roy. "We'll be here. We'll dress her in all kinds of pink frilly stuff and Riza will tangle her hair up with ribbons as soon as it's long enough. And I'll do my best to embarrass her in front of her friends."

I snorted. "He won't have to try very hard."

Anya's smile trembled on her lips. "Thank you."

Roy touched Anya's forehead comfortingly, done making light of it. "Thank you for giving Nina to us. I'm sorry we couldn't have gotten to you sooner."

Anya did her best to look down at her baby, to watch Nina's delicate face. She breathed slow and deep and mouthed the words into Nina's sleeping ears, "I love you."

I muttered to myself, "That's it then. Nina has to live."

Roy picked Nina up so she wouldn't wake with Anya's lifeless body next to her.


	38. Chapter 38

Author's Note: Gaaaahhhhhhhh! So much is going on and it's not fair because my story's almost complete and I want to dedicate all my time to that. Anyway, this is the second to last chapter. Chapter thirty-nine will be a continuation and it will be a little bit long.

THEN...

I will have a chapter forty which WILL NOT be a regular chapter. It will be a BONUS CHAPTER following up on EDWARD. Just so we're clear. It will still have the Mustangs in it, but it's a bonus. consider it an OVA.

THEN...

If all goes as planned, I've finalized my decision to write a kind of 'SEQUEL' to this. As said, it will focus more on Nina as a young adult and involve a lot of the characters from the original series (unlike this one that mostly just focused on Riza and Roy). It's going to be different. And it's going to involve new guys as well, particularly Ed and Winry's son. So it's not COMPLETELY over.

Alright. I'll reply to your comments next chapter. Read on.

* * *

Chapter Thirty-eight: Saying Goodbye When That's Not Even The Point

Coming across the edge of the small city was more than unsettling. We'd been walking through woods and our view had been completely shrouded by trees. We'd just taken it for granted that the woods would go on into more desolate fields and more barren valleys and more and more wide spaces with no population or civilization of any kind.

So when we walked from the trees and stepped straight into a large backyard, it stood to reason that we were a little thrown off.

"Holy sh—!"

I clamped my hand over Roy's mouth. We back-stepped into the trees. "There might be someone around."

Roy shifted Nina in his arms and reached up to pry my hand off of his mouth. "What just happened? Did you even notice before? I didn't hear anything. I still don't hear anything."

"It's barely dawn. Everyone's asleep."

Roy looked down at me, his expression less than optimistic. His eyes looked droopy. He hadn't admitted to it yet, but I could tell he'd been spending most of our nights watching over Nina rather than sleeping. It didn't surprise me. After all that had happened, he wouldn't need to do much to make himself stay awake.

I hugged my arms, an indirect effort to comfort myself. "Your move."

Roy looked away, his brow pinching slightly and his lips pursing into a line—his 'calculating' face. I watched his eyes darken and his gaze fell like a withered shadow. He met my eyes, shaking his head.

"We have to stop," he said. "Here."

I felt my heart race with adrenaline. I'd been waiting for him to say it, but I felt like he was saying it too soon. He was saying we couldn't afford for things to get any worse. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

"But, there are people after us. We decided to keep moving."

"Nina can't do this," Roy said. "We can run all we want, but she's not going to get better. We need to stop and think. We can't afford to get distracted anymore."

I watched Nina sleep in Roy's arms. She was sleeping so deeply that I couldn't even tell if she was breathing anymore. We'd been running with her for two weeks now. She was barely eating and hadn't bothered to say anything to us for three days. There was too much effort involved in flexing her jaw to the words. Her crying while her hands were on fire had dulled to almost inaudible—weak whimpers with thin tears.

I petted her dark hair, nodding. "Leave it to me."

All our clothes were worn from travel, so I left Roy and Nina for a while at the edge of the woods to buy us each something mainstream that wouldn't draw any attention. Options were limited this early in the morning. There was just a couple of clothing stores open and only one of them offered clothes for men, women, and children. I was done in plenty of time, so I bought us sausage rolls on the way back.

"Riza," said Roy, wolfing down his third flaky roll. "You're my favorite person in Amnestris."

"I'd better be," I said, chuckling. "Save some for Nina. She might wake up." That was as good as wishful thinking at this point.

I was holding Nina in my lap and undressing her in her sleep. She didn't even flinch. She just kept breathing, flopping like a rag doll as I threaded her arms out of the sleeves. I snapped the tags off of her new white shirt and brown overalls and shook out the folding-creases. Roy watched me as I lifted and pulled Nina into them.

"Are you cross-dressing my daughter?" he asked.

"It doesn't hurt to take precautions," I said. "Drachma's looking for a little girl so, until further notice, Nina is 'Jimmy Junior'."

Roy looked a little peeved at my logic. "Yeah," he sighed. "It's just she was crazy about that dress. She'd be excited to wake up in a new one."

I snapped Nina's overalls into place at her shoulders. "I don't think she'd notice a difference."

Roy's shoulders sank. "She wouldn't."

We were able to check into a nearby hotel without a hitch. We came in so early that the woman at the desk barely even looked at our IDs. We got a room with one bed and that was where we put Nina. Roy and I lay down on either side of her and watched one another over her shoulders. We were quiet for a long time like that, just looking at each other, having a hundred conversations with our eyes and always coming up with the same result; it's done.

The sun rose higher in the sky as the mid-morning hours came. Its amber rays came in through the sheer curtains and fell warm on our faces-the most color on Nina's skin we'd seen in days. Roy's eyes became shiny. He blinked one too many times and a pair of glittery drops dripped from the rims of his eyes and slid down the bridge of his nose and the side of his face, collecting at his ear and dampening the pillowcase beneath his cheek.

"I'm going to open the Portal," he said, his voice barely breeching a whisper.

I put my hand loosely over my mouth to shield a fraction on my expression. He would know I was upset behind my hand, but he didn't need to see it. "I was wondering when you'd say that," I said, my voice coming out feeble.

"There's nothing else." He spoke softly, not because he was trying to be quiet, but because he didn't want it to be obvious to me if his voice broke.

I took my hand from my face. "I know."

He reached over Nina and felt for my hand. I laced my fingers with his. As hard as things had been, it all seemed to be short lived to me now. All the things I'd hated, been scared of, gotten upset over, just seemed like time now. And, as painful as it was, it was time we'd had together. Even the time Nina had spent asleep had been time she had spent in our arms.

Even as Roy offered our last resort, my life still felt over. It was all fading. We were falling from each other.

I released Roy's hand and climbed over Nina to huddle in his arms. He turned onto his back and let me rest on top of him, his legs propped like fences on either side of me, my head tucked under his chin. He kissed my head and held me like I was fragile. As the minutes went on, his arms tightened around me, pressing me against him like he was afraid to let go. He was well aware that opening the Portal wasn't safe.

That he could die.

"Ed told me," I said, "that going through the Portal more than once is something humans aren't supposed to do."

"Humans aren't supposed to go through it at all."

"He said it can have adverse effects beyond equivalent exchange."

Roy's shoulders shrugged under me. "I suppose he'd know more about it than I would."

"Last time I spoke to him, he told me he was going to have the automail surgery again," I said. "The stress from passing through the Gate so many times affected his stump so now he has to have his automail redone. He's going through the whole thing again. But he said he was lucky it wasn't any worse. He said the Gate picks on old injuries. He said he could have died if it had been the place where he was impaled."

I could feel Roy's breath hitting the top of my head. I realized what I'd said was more just ranting than necessary information.

He spoke. "It's all there is, Riza." He hugged me, his eyes shutting for a moment as he pressed his forehead against mine and shuddered. "That's all."

I pulled his face to me and kiss his mouth, feeling prickles of stubble under my lips as I moved against him. We hadn't taken time to be together since Nina had arrived. And now it felt like we were saying goodbye.

Roy kissed my neck. "If every colonel could get as much out of his first-lieutenant as I've gotten out of you…"

"I'm not sure that would be a good thing in all cases, sir."

I could feel Roy's mouth stretching into a grin against my ear. "Point taken."

I reached my hand over to rub Nina's cheek. Roy watched me, his body relaxing.

"No regrets," I said. "There's plenty I'm sad about, but…no regrets."

"I should have married you sooner."

I smiled, a little bit pleased to hear him admitting it. "But then things wouldn't have happened the way that they did. Things worked out, Roy."

"Being Fuhrer would have been nice."

"You say that like you don't expect on becoming Fuhrer after all this is done," I said. Because he was saying he might not make it out and we both knew it.

Roy was silent. There wasn't anything he could say.

I smiled, coming up on my elbows and looking down over him so that my hair dangled and tickled his face like a blonde tent. "You've been Fuhrer for a long time, Mustang. You just haven't had the badges to show it." My smile widened. "Not yet."

"You're the sexiest woman alive," Roy chuckled, pulling me down for a kiss.

I watched Nina from the corner of my eye and wondered why Roy and I were laughing.

…

We left the duffle in our hotel room along with most everything else. I carried the first-aid in my purse and a loaded revolver at mid-thigh. Roy carried his gloves in his pocket. I carried Nina in my arms. Roy offered to take her, but I wouldn't let go for anything.

She'd been asleep for nearly a full day; longer than she'd ever gone before. It was one thing for a grown, healthy adult to go that long asleep. But for a tiny emaciated toddler, going that long without food and, more important, water, was dangerous. Every light step I took with her seemed to jar her like her bones were loose in her skin. Her breathing was becoming so faint I could barely feel it even when we were standing completely still. We were running out of time. A person could only sleep so deep without losing the ability to wake up.

We'd only just arrived at the city-we hadn't even gotten its name straight-but the thought of sitting still any longer just wasn't an option anymore. With little intent of returning to the hotel for our travel-ragged belongings, Roy and I set out with Nina to find someplace better suited for an incomplete taboo. The third floor of a nice hotel just didn't seem appropriate.

"It doesn't matter where I do it," said Roy. "As long as it's secluded enough not to draw attention from civilians."

I nodded, matching his pace as we walked. "What will you say? To the Gatekeeper, I mean."

"I don't know yet," he said. "I'm going to try to negotiate. I'm the original Flame Alchemist, but that's really all I've got going for me so far."

"You'll figure it out," I said, like saying it would make it happen. "You always do."

It was about noon when we saw the construction site just off the main road. It was vast and only just in its beginnings, half of it still looking more similar to a demolition site. There was so much room, so much rubble to be cleared away, that I assumed they were building up a residential area in a city this big. It really didn't matter what it was they were building, though. All that mattered was it was perfect for keeping out of sight. Roy led me through as the hard-hatted workers stepped aside for lunch.

"She's going to love Hayate," I said, stepping over a gap in the cracked foundation under our feet. "He's just her size."

Roy's smile was barely noticeable. He wasn't even making an effort anymore.

"She'll probably give him more attention than he knows what to do with," I said, chuckling.

"Yeah."

"And when all of this ends," I said, "we'll be bringing home our baby girl. Havoc's going to have a fit. And Breda. Those two both. Roy Mustang—Daddy of the year!"

"Yeah."

"We can get Nina one of those little kid-sized uniforms they sell at the military hospital gift-shop. They're overpriced, but I think it'd be worth it when you think about all three of us in our uniforms together. We could make it into a Christmas card."

"Yeah," he said.

We made it out of sight from the workers then walked a few more minutes until we made it to the more prominent and hefty pieces of rubble; the hunks and slabs you had to climb over and weave through. That was where we stopped, where the unsteady chunks of debris hung around us like a tunnel leading into a cave.

I looked around. The ground was uneven and scattered with shards of glass and concrete dust. It was midday but the area was dark from the shadows cast by the walls of rubble we'd crawled into. It smelled dank, like cold moist stone. The air was thin in my lungs and dry in my throat. So, this was it. This was the place where we would live or die. I'd seen battlefields. I'd watched men being sucked into the gates of hell. And this was the place where it would all end? My life suddenly felt uncomfortably anticlimactic.

Roy spoke like he was reading my thoughts. "You and Nina stay back. I don't want either of you getting caught in the crossfire."

That's right. It wasn't ending for me. Only them. I was 'staying back.'

"So, you're really going to do it alone," I asked.

"Why, is there another way?"

I sat on a cinderblock with Nina in a lump on my lap. "I just…can't follow you this time."

"Yeah." Roy couldn't bring himself to reassure me of anything.

"I should tell you not to go," I said.

Roy knelt next to me, his eyes tracing over my face apologetically. He put one hand over my hand and the other around Nina's.

"But you have a reason not to speak up this time," he said, smiling half-heartedly down at her.

His eyes were crinkled in a loose, easy way, making his expression look malleable. Though he wasn't happy with what he would face, I could see that part of him was content with it. And that scared me.

"Come back to us," I said, meeting his eyes. "Save our daughter and get your ass back over here."

Roy nodded.

"I want you alive," I said.

He nodded.

"And I want you with all your limbs. And don't you dare go blind again. There are only so many times you can rely on a Philosopher's Stone, Roy Mustang. Am I understood?"

He nodded. His eyes darted over me, inspecting me, searching me. I leaned over and kissed his forehead, pushing back his hair to press my lips on his cool pale skin.

"Roy," I said. "It's going to be okay. With Edward out of the game, you're the strongest alchemist there is. So, you're going to do this. You're going to figure it out."

Roy made a playful smile. "With Edward out of the game?" he said. "What's that supposed to mean? You think he has to be out of the game for me to stand a chance at being the best?"

I watched how easily he manipulated the muscles in his face to form his smile and realized with a pang that he wasn't even trying this time. I remembered the looseness, the contentedness he'd shown moments ago. I remembered the calm in Anya's voice as she'd told us her story, as she'd told us of the moment she sacrificed her life for Nina's in the Portal. The melancholy peace that had come over her. The peace I saw in my husband now.

I wanted to tell Roy not to go, but the warmth of Nina's body curled in my lap kept me from doing it. I wanted her to stay warm. He was the only way. There was no way for me to protect them. There was nothing I could do.

Roy held my face in his hands. "Please, don't."

My vision blurred and I realized I was looking through tears. "I'm not."

He rubbed the drips from my cheeks with the sides of his knuckles. His eyes fell on me tenderly, his touch light but deliberate. Again I ached to tell him not to go. I hugged Nina tight and found I couldn't let go of her. So I let him let go of me.

"There's no time," said Roy, standing. "I have to do it while she's still breathing."

"Yes," I said. "I know. We don't know how much longer she can keep it up."

"Stay with her."

He meant that on a deeper level than he let on. He was wishing us a good life together if he didn't come back alive. It was funny he was still trying those tricks on me. Then again, maybe he was doing it because he knew I could see through him. Maybe that was the point.

"Yes, sir," I said. "Go to it, sir."

Roy bent over and kissed my head. "Alright."

He reached into his pocket and took out a stick of charcoal, far easier to come by for us than chalk considering he was the Flame Alchemist. He sketched the circle out straight onto the wall, a far smoother and even surface than the floor beneath us, a vertical Portal. His lines were beautiful—every calculated etch, every delicate written stroke, every angular mark. I hated them. I wanted to put Nina down and smudge them out.

"Roy," I said as he rounded the transmutation circle. "Do you remember when you confronted Envy? You'd waited so long to take revenge on Hughes's killer. And then I wouldn't let you."

"That's a stupid question," he said, only half paying attention. "Of course I remember."

"You were going to do it," I said gently. "You were so ready. I'd never seen you want anything so bad in your life."

"No joke."

"You were going to do it."

"Yeah?"

"But I stopped you," I said. "Everyone said what they had to say. And then you asked me what I would do after I'd shot you. I told you I had no intention of going on without you. And you said you couldn't let that happen. You said you couldn't lose me."

Roy stepped back from his transmutation circle, staring down at the charcoal dust smothering his hands. "That's right. And then I let Envy go."

"I love you, Roy," I said.

He looked at me, dismayed. "If there was another way…"

"I know."

"I have to try."

"Yes."

Roy dropped the charcoal and came to me. "I can't just do nothing."

"I love you for it," I said.

He kissed the bridge of my nose. "I'm going to come back."

"Twice through isn't promising," I said plainly. Someone had to say it out loud.

"I know," said Roy, wanting to say other things. "But I can do it. If Fullmetal can pull it off then so can I."

"Now you're mixing the issue with your inferiority complex toward Ed."

"Hey," said Roy, melancholly. "That damn brat couldn't go up against me even with his alchemy. Don't joke like that, Hawkeye."

I found myself smiling, smirking actually. It was funny how Roy said he was coming back and all of the sudden it seemed more like he would just by him saying it. If I hadn't been so used to him, I might have been convinced.

I pictured Edward during the thunderstorm back in Packhorse—hunched over the toilet, vomiting through the pain. I could hear him groaning, feel his sweaty forehead on my palm as I checked his temperature. I remembered the sound of his crutches clacking as he limped across the train car with his stump dangling and knocking against his thigh.

I remembered the day Roy and I had first met Edward after he'd lost his limbs in the taboo. I remembered how pale he'd been from losing so much blood. I remembered seeing his blood in his father's study where he'd committed the act, where his leg had been taken from him.

I wondered now how he was doing. It had been a few months since I'd seen him. I wondered whether he'd gone through with having his stump completely re-docked. I wondered if he'd made the decision to start over. I wondered if he'd gone back right to where he was the day Roy and I had first met him, with a raw stump and a long road of recovery ahead of him. I wondered if he was wearing his new leg now. I wondered if the surgery had gone as easily as it apparently had last time.

And he had been lucky.

Nina had been through the Portal twice; once with her mother and then once more to gain Flame Alchemy. And now she was lying in my lap halfway to death already. Roy had nearly lost his vision forever just for being forced through against his will. Now he was going through on purpose. Besides equivalent exchange, what toll would a second journey through the Truth take on his body?

I thought of Ed's leg. I watched Nina's exhaustion. I looked on as Roy kissed Nina's baby hand and stepped up to the Portal.

"What will you say?" I asked, standing with Nina in my arms. "What will you tell the Gatekeeper when you get there?"

"I'll think of it."

"Please, Roy!"

Roy looked at me and folded his arms. "Remember that time when we were in high school and you were practicing with me for your oral presentation on your family's history? Then Master Hawkeye came in and scoffed and said knowing the facts was enough. You'd find the words to express them when you got up and presented."

"This isn't a ninth grade Social Studies project."

"Simple theories can apply to big situations," said Roy. He unfolded his arms and let his hands dangle free. He was setting them loose, readying them to press against his human-transmutation circle. "Trust me, Riza. Try to trust me."

Adrenaline rushed through my veins and pulsed through my palpitating heart. My head felt numb at the front and heavy at the back. I was useless. All I could do was tell him what I wanted him to do and imagine I actually had some kind of part in this.

"Dammit, Roy!" I said, clenching my arms around Nina. "I trust you to do your best. That doesn't mean it'll work."

I set Nina down, her nearly weightless body having suddenly felt heavy in my desperate, trembling arms. I strode into Roy's hold and kissed him hard, him leaning and gripping me, pushing his mouth against mine. I parted, saying, "I love you," into his lips. "Come back to me."

Roy scrunched a fistful of my yellow hair past my ear, away from my face, and kissed my temple, telling me he loved me and he needed me, speaking into my skin. I held onto him, clamping both of my arms around his body, tricking myself into believing we could stay like this indefinitely and we'd never run out of time as long as we didn't move.

"I have to go before she wakes up again," Roy said softly, his voice rough with fear. "She's been sleeping for too long. If she wakes up…"

"Her hands burning might take too much out of her this time."

"Yeah."

I bit back tears as I pried my arms away from him, distancing myself from the safety of his embrace. "I know."

"Riza…"

"I know."

Roy touched my cheek then moved on to take a tress of my hair, fiddling with it between his index finger and thumb before tucking it behind my ear. I took his hand and kissed the tops of his fingernails.

"I know, Roy," I said. "I know."

Roy stepped back.

Without really having to think about it, I stood at attention—erect, heels together, hand like a visor at my forehead. Roy laughed lightly and saluted back, a little sloppy.

"At ease, soldier," he said. He looked at me hard, his smile almost gone of his mouth. "It's been a hell of a fight."

My heart skipped. He corrected himself.

"After this," he said, "I think we might try to stop with the fighting for a while."

I nodded. "That sounds perfect, Sir."


	39. Chapter 39

Author's Note: Holy cow! It's here! The end! Crazy, right? Thanks to all my readers for...reading. I'm glad you enjoyed it enough to read to the end! And thanks to all of you who commented. The pressure kept my work ethic tight and your comments were all so sweet/funny/helpful/encouraging. I hope I'll see some of your pennames turn up on my sequel.

Reminder: There will be a fortieth chapter coming up soon, but it's a bonus following up on Ed. Then this story with be complete. The sequel will come out sometime within the next couple weeks (I hope) and I'm titling it "FLAME LEGACY" (It's not even a real sequel; like, this is The Hobbit and my 'sequel' is The Lord of the Rings).

claspatfront: (doc manager won't let me write your SN properly) I love it when I get comments from people who read this all in one go. I really admire people with that kind of stamina with reading. Thanks so much for commenting! I hope you like the ending as much as you've liked the rest.

mixmax300: Yeah, it doesn't feel real that it's ending. Especially for the writer who's been slaving over plot/character since January :P I've really enjoyed your comments on this. I hope you end up checking out the sequel!

Hawkstang: Haha, I can always count on you to be the one to analyze the details. Well, if you've got an artist's mind then I guess it must just come naturally to you. I hope you find the end satisfying! And I hope you give me some feedback on Flame Legacy when I start putting it up. Your comments have been great throughout!

PhantomhiveHost: Ha! Oh, gosh. It's been fun how emotionally involved I get my readers sometimes. Thanks for all the vivid comments. I can't wait to see what you think of my ending!

* * *

Chapter Thirty-nine: The Right to Flame Alchemy

…Roy touched my cheek then moved on to take a tress of my hair, fiddling with it between his index finger and thumb before tucking it behind my ear. I took his hand and kissed the tops of his fingernails.

"I know, Roy," I said. "I know."

Roy stepped back.

Without really having to think about it, I stood at attention—erect, heels together, hand like a visor at my forehead. Roy laughed lightly and saluted back, a little sloppy.

"At ease, soldier," he said. He looked at me hard, his smile almost gone of his mouth. "It's been a hell of a fight."

My heart skipped. He corrected himself.

"After this," he said, "I think we might try to stop with the fighting for a while."

I nodded. "That sounds perfect, Sir."

In our stillness together I heard Nina cry out weakly from where I'd left her laying on the broken ground. I jumped in my skin, half expecting to see her hands blazing, but when I turned from Roy to see her weary eyes opening, her palms were barely flickering. She was running out of fuel. She saw the fire and gasped. Tears, meager from the dehydration, leaked down her face. Her fear fueled the fire despite her weakened state and the flames rose into small pyramids fanning from her fingers. Her mouth moved to the syllable, "Ma," as she fought to call for me.

I moved to her. She caught sight of me, of us, of Roy. Her lank face quivered into a teary-eyed smile. I watched Roy from my peripheral. He was shaking his head, stepping backward from her, withdrawing.

"Daddy," she mouthed slowly. Her elbow trembled, her arm shivering, until it lifted and she reached out for him with her blazing fingers. "Daddy…"

I paid little attention to the tears springing from my eyes as I came to Nina's side. Tears were just accessories to the moment as far as I was concerned. I tried to block her line of vision, to distract her so she wouldn't see Roy walking away from us. "I'm here, baby. Everything's going to be okay."

I didn't look up, afraid that if I did I might see Roy moving to leave us. Nina's eyes slowly focused on me, her brow confused at getting Mommy instead of Daddy. My body lurched with an unexpected sob. "Everything's alright, Nina," I said, turning my sob into words. "Everything's alright."

Her eyes just settled on me, searching for a reason Daddy wasn't here and for a reason why I was crying. I heard Roy's heavy, clopping footsteps as he paced toward the wall. I ran the tips of my fingers through Nina's hair, the fine strands catching where her sweat had dried and matted in her sleep. Her eyelids blinked softly like butterfly kisses. The fire in her hands dumbed down on its own. She was too tired to lose control and make it rage. Her flames simmered out.

I bit my lip. Roy didn't speak and now Nina and I were silent, too. The silence stirred with Roy's shuffling steps in front of the marked wall, with the padded thud of his palms pressing hard against the Human Transmutation circle. Behind us I could feel the light coming off the circle as Roy activated it. I could hear its crackling static rasps. I heard my own breathing, felt my chest hyperventilating under my dress. I swallowed hard at the back of my dry throat, my skin pricking in painful waves.

"Roy, wait!" I said, standing. "The fire's out. Don't go yet. We still have time."

The circle lit like purple fire, lighting up and spinning in sharp, whipping movements. Roy stood in front of it, removing his palms as the familiar form of a giant eye opened before him and welcomed him in. The shadowy fingers of Truth's hands crept from the seams of the circle.

Roy's eyes met mine with heavy defeat. All optimism had been let go of. There was no longer any point in faking it. All I saw now was terror. As skilled of an alchemist as he was, it was a fact that Roy had very little experience in actual Human Transmutation. His one encounter had been done for him. He'd never had the need or desire to delve into the taboo.

Edward, on the other hand, had done it multiple times. He'd come out alive, though at times in pieces. Edward was well versed in the loopholes of Human Transmutation. But Roy had nothing. Roy was reaching in the dark. He wasn't at Ed's level this time around. He was no better than me.

The hands were rising, their fingers contracting into claws, ready to paw at my husband.

"Roy," I said, overly calm suddenly. I put out my hand to him, stepping forward. "Not yet."

"I'll be back." He stayed where he was.

"No," I said. "You won't."

The hands were close to brushing the edges of his shirt.

"You've got nothing," I said numbly. "You're going to die and then Nina will die anyway."

"I have to try," he said, stepping forward slightly, toward me, without thinking about it.

"You're being irrational," I said. I began to smile. "Of course you are. Of course you wouldn't think straight."

"I'm sorry," he said, unmoving. The purple glow rushed around him, the shadowy fingers brushing the heel of his shoe, gnawed at the rubber sole.

"I'm sorry too," I said, chuckling. I drew up the side of my skirt to mid-thigh. "You don't have anything, baby." I took a deliberate step forward and flipped my revolver out of its holster, aiming at the base of his shin. "But I do."

Roy didn't have time to speak through his shock before I fired my shot. He toppled forward, crying out. The pain would be enough to keep him from crawling back into the Portal's range for now, even without the damage I'd done grazing his shin's bone.

I tossed my gun aside and ran forward, leaping over him and coming to the open eyeball on the wall.

"Riza!" His voice broke as blood leaked through his hold on his leg.

I glared at the dark hands from where I stood as they pawed. They were still searching for Roy after being interrupted by the falter my shot had caused. They ignored me. They wanted the one who had opened the Gate. I prayed they'd give up on him and go for me, the closer target, now that I had forced him out of their clutches for a brief moment.

"Riza!" Roy said, gripping his leg as blood burbled through his fingers. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

The hands reached forward, finding their way back to Roy again, getting back on course. I shook my head, cursing myself for not shoving him even further away from their reach. I wondered if it was too late to do that.

"Riza, get back now!" He was fighting to stand, but it was clear the pain was making it hard for him to move.

I winced as a slicing sensation, like the sting of a wasp, zapped through my back.

"Riza!" Roy's voice suddenly sounded more desperate than before. He was looking more at the circle than the hands, now.

The slicing sensation hit my back again right between my shoulders and down to the small of my spine. I gasped, not because the pain was particularly unbearable, but because the feeling was unfamiliar to me. I'd never felt anything like it. The only true pain I'd felt there on my back was from when Roy had defaced my father's research.

The pain was coming from behind, from the circle itself. It came again, jolting my bones like blue electricity. Roy yelled for me to step away. The pain was quickly followed by a crackling, whooshing sound. For a split second my vision seemed to be clouded by white light. I watched in awe as the dark hands shied from Roy's heels and crept back to me.

"No," Roy mouthed, cringing as he attempted to move. He glared past me at the eye. "Don't touch her!"

My father's research.

"Riza!"

That's what started it all.

"Don't you even dare!"

The tattoo that ran across my shoulders to the small of my back. That's what the Gate was interested in. That's what the hands were searching for.

"God damn it, Riza!" Roy shouted. "Get out of there! What are you doing?"

He gritted his teeth, biting down on a scream, and forced his body to lean forward. He worked to grab at the searching hands, trying to lure them back to him. But I was already thinking past him. I stepped back and pressed my shoulders into the surface of the Gate's open eye. The jolt, the feel of icy white light going in and out of my lungs, throbbed through me. I grew dizzy like I was falling backward in a dream.

"No," Roy said, still trying to drag himself up enough to come after me. "You idiot. What can you do?"

"Better than you," I called. My voice warped at the end as the hands got hold of me and began picking me into shards. It was uncomfortable, almost like an itchy feeling, but I could tolerate it.

The shock of being shot had worn off and Roy was coming to his feet, swerving. I looked through my blurred eyes, past Roy's staggering body, and glimpsed at Nina. Her eyes were still open, like tiny slits of crystal blue. Her face was soft, not a hint of fear on her. I smiled and winked, feeling the hands flake away at my face to steal my smile away from me, to paw at my winking eye. Nina smiled back, picking her hand up at her shoulder and wagging her fingers goodbye. I moved to wave back, only to realize I had no more fingers left to wag.

"The hand's gone," said Roy, hovering over me.

"I know."

Roy had limped to me, leaving a smeared trail of blood behind him. He was hunched over me now, breathless from the bullet, leaning his hands on the wall against the Gate's eye. It wasn't even looking at him anymore, even with his hands pushed up against it, it had no interest in him anymore. The hands kept at me, unwavering.

"Roy…" But my voice was cut off as the hands went into my throat and devoured my vocal chords.

Roy glowered down at me, the purple glow from the circle hitting his face and making his sweat sparkle against his white skin. "Don't go." He breathed on a sob as he moved to touch my face and my cheek melted under his fingertips. "That's an order."

I wanted to say I was sorry. I wanted to tell him I loved him. I wanted to tell him I'd be back, so don't worry, Roy. But my lips were tapering. I couldn't even smile to show him I was okay.

I watched his dark eyes watching me. I watched him fight not to react in front of Nina. I watched the anger tangle with fear. I watched it all mingle into grey tears of frantic grief dripping over his face of stone. I watched his final gaze. I watched him look at me the way he always had. I watched him say goodbye.

…

White.

Stark white.

Clouded vertigo.

Smooth solitude.

Terrifying perfection.

Everything's gone.

Alone.

…

"Well," said the Gatekeeper. "This is an interesting development."

I opened my eyes forward and there he was, just like Roy had described him to me years ago after his encounter on the Promise Day. The 'Truth Guy,' as Edward had referred to him. The white figure silhouetted against white emptiness. A bright white grin took up the majority of his broad white face. I had a disturbing feeling in me that having this being amused by me was dangerous.

"That's not even your door, is it?" he asked, pointing behind me.

I perked up, my body bursting into animation as I jumped back from the shadow cast by the towering stone door that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

The Gatekeeper laughed in icy delight. "Foolish human. You aren't even an alchemist, are you?"

"What is this?" I said, staring up at the alchemic symbols engraved up and down the recesses of the grey door. I held my breath as my eyes traced the familiar shapes of flames, a crude sun, a salamander—my father's array.

"This alchemist's existence ended long ago," the Gatekeeper said. "So how is it that you have summoned his door? You don't even know how to open it."

"Did you send Nina through here?" I asked. "Nina bought Flame Alchemy from you, right? She bought it with her life."

"So," said the Gatekeeper, mellowing, "you're unhappy with equivalent exchange."

I felt a surge of protectiveness pulse through me. I felt suddenly vicious. I stepped forward, stacking my hands on my hips like I was scolding a child. "I couldn't care less about equivalent exchange. You sold Flame Alchemy to my daughter when it wasn't even yours to sell!"

The white silhouette rocked back, laying its tubular arms on its knees. "Is that so?"

"I own Flame Alchemy." I frowned. "My father created it. My husband uses it. But I'm the one who's had to carry it." I unbuttoned my dress, one black button at a time, and then let it slip off me onto the empty ground. I left it at my feet, stepping out of it and turning my back to the Gatekeeper. I lifted my hair away and showed him my tattoo and the burns that came with it. "I've carried this damn research for the entirety of my adult life. I guarantee, defaced or not, I've bought Flame Alchemy."

I dropped my hair back onto my shoulders and turned to face the Gatekeeper. He was still smiling, but something was different about his expression. It was tighter, more intense. It was like he was twitching.

"You must be very confident," he said, finally. "To come here without an invitation and contradict the world's most simple laws."

"Apparently I did have an invitation," I said, gesturing to my back with my thumb. "The Portal let me in even though I wasn't the one who opened it. It acknowledges my claim. I own Flame Alchemy—bought and paid for. And I don't want to make this complicated. Confidence has nothing to do with it. Nina is my daughter and she is not yours to take away from me. I've already paid for her alchemy so you need to release her from her debt to the Gate."

"You think the Gate of Truth made some kind of an error?" the Gatekeeper asked, hugging his knees.

"I think the Truth overlooked a few things," I said. I pointed behind me to my father's door. "I mean, that was supposed to die with my father, right? Dead is supposed to be dead. One of the world's simplest laws."

"What would you suggest then?" asked the Gatekeeper sharply.

He'd become rigid, annoyed. I wondered if it was because I was right or because I was wasting his time.

I took a breath, folding my arms. "Take it," I said, finally. I paused. "My father's research. I don't want it. I never did. I tried to hide it by covering it up, but that didn't stop it from spreading to Drachma. So, take it back. I can't control it. Have it to yourself and never let it leave your sight again." I smiled. "Humans are a little foolish to be playing with fire, don't you think?"

The Gatekeeper leaned onto his knees and then came to his feet, brushing himself off, brushing away nothingness. His face was flat, empty, featureless. "You do realize that the keys of Flame Alchemy are sewn into you?"

I looked up. "Yes. I do."

"Interesting." I caught a dimpled smile forming, rippling his blank stare. "And you'll take your chances."

"Yes." I almost said it like a question. A shiver ran through me as the Gatekeeper stepped toward me decisively, holding out his silhouetted hand to me.

"The mother of an infantile alchemist?" he grumbled to himself. "What should I expect to come through next?"

"What will happen to me?" I asked, making an effort to maintain my ground as the Gatekeeper approached.

He gripped my hand hard. I felt the itch run through my arm. I was suddenly extremely lightheaded. I was looking at the blankness of the Gatekeeper's face, but something in me told me I was meeting his eyes. I shivered again. My energy leaked forcefully out of my muscles and I felt my body wavering. I reached back to touch my tattoo as if to protect it and my fingers tingled like static cling.

Damn. I was supposed to come out alive. I was supposed to dress Nina in pink and put ribbons in her hair.

"Will I," I sputtered, "be okay?"

"Quiet, human," said the Gatekeeper, standing parallel to me. "It will all be done soon."

…

Pale yellow and orange danced across my eyelids, sheets of amber light warming the skin of my face. There was something fuzzy about the air I was breathing in and out of my lungs, something that made my breaths feel soft and easy going. My limbs felt weightless on me to the point where I barely noticed they were there.

I felt safe, bundled, like I was a moth wrapped snuggly within a silken cocoon. My muscles moved my body into a gentle stretch and the rustling sound of sheets slid across my ears. I parted my lips and breathed through my mouth, inhaling gulps of the flavorless air. I swallowed, finding my mouth to be uncomfortably dry, my tongue almost sticky. I licked my cracked lips and opened my eyes to a grey painted ceiling.

I rocked my head to the right, resting my cheek on the pillow beneath it, looking out the window beside my railed hospital bed to the warm morning sky. I sighed contentedly and turned my head to the left, glancing over the rail on the hospital bed and across the empty tiled floor. I looked through the crack in the door at the white hallway, watching the wheels and metal structures of empty or dormant gurneys being pushed across. I listened to the squeak of shoes as blurred figures paced back and forth. The dullness of the area was nostalgic. The tiles were the design they used at the Central Military Hospital.

I could hear inaudible voices muttering to each other, passing my door and fading in and out at their own paces. Two voices in particular stood out, two that sounded very close to my door—probably just outside. These voices were just clear enough for me to make out with my hazy ears.

"It just doesn't seem real," a woman's voice squeaked. "After all the hostility between our countries we just bail them out of an economic crisis without even taking more than a couple of weeks to think it over? The Fuhrer's crazy."

"I disagree," replied a gruff male. "I heard those failed projects were a decade in the making. With all the money Drachma's government invested in that military research, having it all come to dead ends at once would have doomed their entire country for years. Amnestris has been prosperous with our peacetime and Drachma didn't have any other choice but to turn to us. Offering to bail them out rather than forcing them to beg was the smartest thing King Grumman could have done for us. Drachma has no option but to consider Amnestris their greatest ally from now on. Whatever issues we had with them before, they're long gone now."

"I guess you're right!" said the woman, her high voice rising with awe. "But still, don't you wonder what all that research in Drachma was? I mean, their facilities could have been working on technology to flatten Amnestris into a crater and we just helped them out when it failed."

"I'm more interested in what exactly went wrong with it. To be working on those projects for so long and then for them to just come to a complete stop seems pretty drastic to me. But, whatever it was they were researching, I'd say it's way too damn classified for them to bother telling a couple of military medical staff members." The man laughed and I could hear the woman giggle with him.

"It's nice to have Colonel Mustang back," said the woman. "It feels safer with him in Amnestris for some reason. No one was ever specific about his extended leave. I was beginning to wonder if he'd even said anything about coming back."

"Well," said the man, chuckling smugly, "Hawkeye had disappeared with him so I assumed it was probably more than just a vacation. Damn show-off probably used all his free time for classified side-jobs."

"Yeah," said the woman. I could hear her high-heel screeching as she pivoted her foot in place. "I guess a hunting accident might explain a bullet to his leg, but I don't get where Hawkeye taking a bad fall and having a concussion for two solid weeks comes from. I never saw a bruise. And that little girl he takes around with him…!"

"Kind of freaks me out," said the man. "Who goes on a three month hunting trip and comes back with a kid? Mustang's always got something he's not saying; that's for sure. He's been through this hospital a hundred times since he joined up and his injuries never add up completely to his reports. I wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with this whole economic crisis in Drachma."

Then a new sound approached, a fitting sound for a hospital. Crutches.

Tap, step, tap, step.

They came slowly—not tired but easy going. With them came the light padded squeak of small shoes.

"Sorry, Doctor," said Roy smoothly. "I think I heard my name."

"Colonel Mustang…!"

I recognized the sound of Nina's excited shuffling, her breaths sounding light and giggly. "We come see Mommy now. Okay."

I strained to lean forward, to come upright, propping myself on my elbows and scooting to rest my head back on the wall behind me. There was pressure in my temples, the uncomfortable beginnings of a dull headache from getting up too fast.

I gasped, jumping in my skin as the door swung open carelessly, knocking hard against the wall with a bang.

"Careful, Nina," said Roy, limping forward and propping the door with a crutch to keep it from swinging closed on her. "There are other people in this hospital besides just us. It's too early for this."

"Sorry, Daddy," she said, putting her finger over her lips like she was shushing. She was wearing a pink ribbon like a headband over her cropped black hair.

Roy didn't reply to her. He stood motionless in the doorway, gripping his crutches tight to keep the weight off of his splinted leg. His eyes were dark with deep purple underneath, not droopy from lack of sleep, but pulled from being overly alert for too long. His expression was smooth, colorless, bland. Even his usually unfathomable gaze seemed distant. Everything about him was completely still, unaffected—everything but his mouth.

His lips opened to reveal his teeth, set lightly, forming a crooked half-smile. He grinned loosely, the rest of the muscles in his face virtually unmoving. I could feel his relief pouring out of him and falling over me. The last time I'd met his eyes he'd been glaring at me.

I pushed myself up to sit straighter, yawning. "So, what did I miss?"

"Mommy!" Nina screeched. She ran across the tile with her shiny black shoes and leapt onto the bed with me, clutching my arm and giggling as I grabbed her up and kissed her cheek.

"Hi, cutie," I said, my voice feeling hoarse in my throat. "How you feeling? Better?"

Roy let go of the door and let it slam shut, limping away to come to us. "Are you kidding? She's been bouncing off the ceiling for two weeks straight. I'd say she's been feeling a little too good."

He plunked down on the bed and I felt his weight on the mattress.

I looked at him. "Two weeks?"

"Yeah," he said, his face animating into a smile with his eyes thrown into it. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me with Nina snuggled between us. "Two weeks."

"It felt more like two minutes," I said as I leaned my head on him, remembering the haziness as I'd faded from the Gate and the quick coziness I'd found myself in upon waking up in the hospital bed. "I heard the doctors talking outside. They said classified research projects in Drachma failed two weeks ago."

"We went on a train!" Nina said excitedly, standing up in my lap before Roy telling her to sit back down.

"Was it Nina's research?" I asked.

Roy chucked Nina's chin, looking down at her. "A lot can happen in two weeks." He reached across me to the bedside table by my window. He scrounged through some magazines and unopened envelopes to pull out a sloppily ripped out newspaper page. I recognized the faces on the grey photograph at the top—Fuhrer Grumman shaking hands with the Prime Minister of Drachma. Roy put the article in front of me. The headline read, "Amnestris Bails Drachma from Economic Crisis!" with some subtext about peace."

"I overheard that part." I looked at Roy again, leaning forward. "So, was it me?"

Roy smiled. "Let me grab the mirror."

He stood up and walked across to a semi-new blue backpack on the floor. He unzipped it with all the excitement of a kid opening a gift on his birthday.

"Roy," I said, an impatient whine carrying in my tone. "I told the Truth it could have my father's door. Tell me what that did. What have I missed?"

"Ah, so that's what happened," he chuckled. "I had my guesses, but…"

"What happened, Daddy?" said Nina.

Roy pulled a pink hand-mirror from the backpack and I wondered what the heck had possessed him to carry something like that around with him while I had been asleep. I tried to read the article he'd given me, but my mind wouldn't focus and my eyes wouldn't stop darting, searching for solid ground. I'd likely already figured out all that the article had to say as it was.

"Roy!"

He sat next to me on the bed and kissed my neck, pulling me to him by my shoulder. His hand ran down to the back of my collar, untying the top laces of my hospital gown.

"Oh, please!" I said, startled, pulling up my gown to keep it from dropping. "Now? Really, Roy? Nina's sitting right here in my lap."

He leaned behind me, laughing wryly, and held the mirror facing my back. "Just take a look, Riza." He put my hair over one shoulder like he was drawing a curtain.

"What?" I said, quieting.

"Look," said Roy.

I released my collar a little and let my gown fall from my shoulders. Craning my gaze to look at the mirror, my breath stopped short in my throat. My eyes flashed onto Roy then darted back to the mirror. I bit my lip, the muscles in my face tensed to motionless marble.

"It's gone," I said.

"It's gone," said Roy.

"All gone," said Nina. "Bye-bye."

The tattoo was gone, every defaced remnant erased forever by the power of Truth's Gate. All that remained now were the pink scars from when Roy and I had tried to hide the tattoo ourselves. Suddenly the skin on my back seemed simple. The scars had been a lesser evil than what had been beneath them from the beginning and suddenly they were lighter to carry. I smiled.

"So," I said, "the Gatekeeper took Flame Alchemy away."

Roy laughed, handing me the mirror to hold up myself. "Looks like that's exactly what he did."

I slammed down the mirror, grabbing Roy's shirt. "It worked?"

"You went through the Portal of Truth," said Roy. "I'm not sure you would be here in one piece if whatever you did hadn't worked."

"Daddy's research is gone," I said, my voice lifting. "Flame Alchemy…"

I bounced onto my knees, holding Nina in one arm and tackling Roy with the other. He fell back against the pillows and the wall, laughing, gripping my waist and kissing my mouth. Nina reached her hands up on Roy's face and kissed his prickly chin with her wet, raspberry lips. "Daddy did a good job."

"Daddy did a good job?" I asked, reaching back to tie back on my gown before it could pull down. "Mommy did a good job."

My heart fluttered in a sudden palpitating thump. Like an anticlimactic broken drum.

I paused, releasing Nina to let her cuddle more against Roy. I looked up at Roy, somber. I hugged my arms and looked down, resting the top of my head on his shoulder. "Mommy did a good job. Mommy did a great job. She got rid of Flame Alchemy. And Daddy…?"

Roy hunched to tilt my chin so that I was looking at him again. His brow was wrinkled like he wasn't sure of what I was asking. "And me?"

"I took away Flame Alchemy." I sank into myself. "I took it from you."

Roy burst into unsuppressed laughter, his body shaking with it. Nina giggled with him, although she probably didn't know what she was giggling about. I stared at them, waiting.

"Sorry," said Roy, chuckling. "I hadn't realized I'd left that part out."

"Daddy," said Nina, twisting to look back at him. "You messed up."

"You got rid of Master Hawkeye's door, Riza," he said to me. "Not ours."

I waited.

"So," said Roy, "you don't have the power to mess with me and Nina's doors. You're looking at the two Flame Alchemists of all time. And the art of Flame Alchemy will die with us."

I shoved him. I began to smile until I was grinning so hard my face started to cramp. Before I noticed my eyes were welling, I felt the warm wetness drip off my cheeks, squeezed from their ducts as my smile had widened. "It's finally over."

Roy kissed the damp patches on my cheeks where I'd teared up. "It's finally over, Riza."

Nina got in my face, wriggling between me and Roy. "Mister Furry let me pet the puppy's tummy. He says it's all mine when Mommy gets better. I can take it home now. Okay."

"Mister Furry?" I said, pinching away the remnants of the tears. "You mean Fuery?" I asked Roy.

"You were right," said Roy, patting Nina's head with a chuckle. "Turns out she'd never seen a dog before. She flips out every time Fuery brings Hayate over. It's pretty hilarious."

I laughed. "You like my dog?"

Nina nodded passionately. "I love that one!"

"Then I guess we'd better bring him home," I said.

Roy looked at me. "You mean bring you home?"

I pulled Nina back onto my lap, smiling energetically. "It's been a while."

He shook his head. "You should rest."

"No."

"No nap!" Nina agreed.

Roy looked at me, puzzled as to whether to feel concerned by my recklessness or relieved that I was feeling strong enough to leave.

I took Roy's hand, tracing the lines of his warm palm with my thumb. I felt my face stretch into a fiery grin, showing off my teeth. "It's time to pick up where we left off."

Roy sighed. "Sure." He tapped my nose with his knuckle. "I'll let the doctor know you're awake."

He began to rise, reaching for a crutch. I leaned past Nina and yanked him down. He winced, plunking back on the bed and making the mattress jiggle under us.

"Ouch!" he said, his mouth pouting. "I get your reasoning for shooting me, Riza, but could you try to be a little more sensitive. This leg isn't ready to be thrown around just yet…"

I shut him up, smothering his words with a tender kiss. We smiled into one another's lips. Nina looked up at us, fascinated. "That tastes yucky I think," she said, pointing to our joint mouths.

Roy parted from me. "That's right, Nina," he said, nodding mechanically like he was talking to subordinate. "You're absolutely right. You never do this. Not ever. And if a boy wants to do it to you, then come get Daddy and Daddy will burn him alive."

"I can do it by myself," said Nina, folding her arms. "I can do it."

I raised my eyebrows, opening my mouth to correct her.

Roy spoke over me. "Good girl. That's even better. You burn those boys alive…"

"Roy!" I said.

Roy sighed. He ruffled Nina's black hair. "Yeah, your Mom's right. We don't burn people alive."

Nina nodded, unblinking, taking it all in. Roy continued to pat her head, his smile somewhat disappointed, most likely that he had to instruct her not to burn boys alive. For some reason I found it extremely comforting watching him twist our daughter's reasoning according to his overly protective paternal instincts. I felt his lips on my cheek and I smiled under them.

"So," I said, meeting his dark eyes. "Is this going to be our family's regular type of dinner table conversation from now on? Our version of normal?"

Nina tugged my sleeve for my attention. "What's 'normal?'"

Roy smiled in amusement at both of us. He scooped Nina up so she was meeting his gaze. "I think we're about to figure that one out for ourselves."

I laughed and took one of Nina's hands, playing with the discolored scar spots on her fingertips. "Yes, Sir."

…

Epilogue:

Fuhrer Grumman talked to us about recognizing Roy to the public as some kind of hero involved in the recent events with Drachma. After Roy came to Grumman's office on crutches on their first face to face meeting since Roy's return, Grumman seemed to have some urgent conviction to have Roy benefit from everything he'd done for Amnestris. Grumman urged Roy to milk some credibility as a future candidate for Fuhrer. He knew from what little Roy and I said about what we'd been through as his anonymous sacrificial lambs that things would have worked out very different for Amnestris with Drachma if Roy hadn't been working for him in the shadows.

Roy had left Amnestris's military before he could be marked by Drachma as a conspirator involved with their Flame Alchemy research. If Grumman was vague to the public and the military about Roy's role in what had occurred over the past three months, Roy could have easily been recognized.

But Roy turned Grumman down. He wouldn't even take a promotion. He and I re-entered the service as casually as we had left it—like stepping through a door. There was no kind of ceremony or even office party. There was just a brief memo passed around Central Command to inform the higher-ups that the soldier who had faded into the background months ago had quietly integrated back in, like coming back from extended leave.

If we had done anything more, we knew it would have drawn too much attention in the end. And lying low, disappearing, had been the whole point to begin with—making sure whoever was involved with the Flame Alchemy research would be pushing on rope every time they tried to target the mystery-man who had spied on a classified meeting.

But Roy liked it better that way to begin with. He liked to be understated, underestimated. When he became Fuhrer, he was determined to do it before anyone realized they should be acknowledging him as competition.

Grumman made sure to get our old team back together in an efficient amount of time; Breda, Havoc, Fuery, Falman. He was at least able to do that much. And with Amnestris's international relations running so smooth now that Drachma was an unlikely ally, Roy was free to make plans to start concentrating more on our teams own personal agenda.

Just like I thought they would, our team went drop-jawed the first time they heard Nina calling Roy 'Daddy.' Havoc in particular made plenty of jabs that ended in Roy saying, "Another word and I'll cremate you."

Major Armstrong burst into tears when he took off his shirt for Nina and she pointed to his bicep, saying, "I love that one."

No one was too fazed when Roy slipped up and called me 'babe' instead of 'Lieutenant' during a morning briefing—apparently they saw that one coming. But as much of a hard time as they gave him—and me behind my back, so Falman admitted—they seemed to like the idea of Roy Mustang having a family.

With Roy now as a described 'family man', hours became flexible based on which days Gracia Hughes was free to babysit Nina. There were some days Roy would get restless and say he was going to have an early lunch-break, and when he'd get back, he'd kiss me and say, "Nina says 'hi'."

Still determined to make it up to Roy and I all the trouble we'd been caused, Grumman shuffled some shady documents and turned a blind eye to some suspicious gaps in the paperwork concerning me and Roy's marriage. By the time Sheska was done with it, our marriage didn't as much as touch military regulations. "You'll be Fuhrer someday, right?" Grumman had said to Roy. "Soon enough regulations aren't going to be a problem. I'd say it doesn't matter which order you become Fuhrer and start a family, as long as you get both of them done in the end."

Roy said I looked sexy pointing my gun with my amber ring on my left finger.

With Nina's attachment to the Portal broken, she no longer suffered from her hands burning in her sleep. Though, she also lost a great deal of her raw talent at making good flames. She had the key's to powerful alchemy, but Roy said she had a lot to learn before she would be an alchemist. That was fine with me. She was barely three years old. I could stand for her to play dolls for a while before she picked up playing with fire again.

Still, sometimes she'd get careless twiddling her fingers and set off a minor spark on accident. It wasn't a problem, for the most part. The sparks were almost too insignificant to be called sparks at all. But there was one night she accidentally did it in her sleep and I found burn marks on the fringe of her pink pillow case the next morning. So Roy and I taught her how to put band aids on her fingertips over the scars where the composition of her skin had changed to something flammable, and she slept like that.

After that, Roy and I made a unanimous decision to leave Nina's abilities and her past unspoken. She didn't need to know anything beyond what she remembered for now and the world certainly had no business knowing her details at all. Gracia learned quickly not to talk about the beating-scars after she first saw Nina with her dress off. Nina learned quickly what Mommy and Daddy didn't like her to say out loud in front of other people.

It was fairly easy to forget what had happened to Nina in her early childhood a lot of the time. She was such a joy, nobody would have ever guessed.

We wore each other's scars; me, Roy, and Nina. We were the maps of each other's hearts, showed each other where we'd been and where we'd become stronger. After all, we'd already followed one another straight into hell, more or less—the orphans who had come by one another by tragedy to adopt one another into each other's hearts. We were all we had.

Because, in the end, no one else would've been stupid enough to risk joining our family anyway.


	40. Chapter 40

Author's Note: This is a bonus chapter, for those of you who don't know, catching up with Edward after the Mustangs return from being defected. And that completes my story :O It's been fun to write and I'm going to miss it. Thanks so much for reading and I hope (if you liked this one) you'll check out its sequel coming up in the next week or so. That said...Read on!

FYI: This story was based off "Brotherhood," therefore Roy didn't have anything to do with the murder of Winry's parents. So there's no tension there. This all makes a lot more sense with that in mind.

* * *

OVA—Edward's Antics

Preface: Telegram for Roy Mustang…

I heard you came home with a cute little girl a couple weeks ago. Winry wants to rent her for our Flower Girl at the end of the month. You'll be compensated in cake. Ed.

…Later:

(The following is a scene written as Riza's brief flashback to Edward and Winry's wedding. As a flashback, it will be written in a different format—screenplay—than the usual first person narration.)

[It's dusky outside. The wedding march is scheduled for sunset. Everyone is out socializing in the yard where the aisle has been set up. May Chang (with Xiao-Mei) and Riza are inside the Rockbell living room trying to squeeze Winry into her white dress. The zipper won't go past her hip.]

May: Is it broken?

Winry: It better not be!

Riza: I think it's just a little snug. Suck in, Winry. Let's try again.

[Instead, Winry sinks into an easy chair, pouting her lip.]

Winry: No fair. It fit last week.

May (Xiao-Mei mimicking): You're supposed to keep weight off for the wedding, not put it on! Now what are we supposed to do?

[Riza catches Winry blushing.]

Winry: It's not my fault. I wasn't even showing until a few days ago.

May: Showing what?

[Riza comes to Winry's side.]

Riza: How many weeks are you?

[May (along with Xiao-Mei) looks frustrated as she puzzles it out. Winry smiles, excited.]

Winry: Going on sixteen.

May: You're pregnant?

Winry: Kind of.

May: Four months pregnant?

Winry: Well, yeah.

May: Oh. So, that's why you're marrying him.

[Winry stands with her fists on her hips.]

Winry: Take that back. Edward and I wanted to get married as soon as he got home four months ago. But his leg was all messed up and a wedding wasn't going to be easy on him so we decided to wait until after the surgery. We just…didn't wait all the way.

[Riza hugs her]

Riza: No wonder Ed's been so hyper-vigilant around you since we got here. That's great, Winry.

May (with Xiao-Mei crossing her arms): But now the dress won't go on.

Winry: I lost so much weight from the morning sickness. And the baby's small. This dress was actually loose the first time I tried it on. I didn't think I'd be noticeable for a few more weeks. I swear I thought I could get away with it.

Riza: Don't worry.

[Riza pulls out her travel sewing set from her purse lying over the couch.]

Riza: I'm on it.

…

A Little Over Three Months Later:

(Back to present day, in Riza's original format)

No one answered the door when we rang. We'd ridden all the way from Central, listened to Nina sing the first seven of her ABCs over and over for hour after miserable hour of that Godforsaken train ride, just to come to the doorstep of an empty house.

"Damn!" Roy said under his breath, dropping our suitcases.

"Damn!" mimicked Nina, imitating his frustration to scary perfection.

"Oh, come on," I said. "She's eight months pregnant. Maybe she's just taking her time coming to the door."

As if in reply, we heard Winry scream from inside the house. Roy perked up. He moved to the door and found that the handle turned freely. It was unlocked. Winry screamed again, long and hard.

Nina tugged my arm. "I heard a yell."

Roy opened the door, hurrying onto the door mat. "Winry? Winry, where are you?"

She was screaming from upstairs. I pointed and Roy and I hurried to the stairwell.

"Winry?" I called.

She screamed over me. From upstairs I could hear other voices with her. One telling her, "Good job," and the other crying, "Dear God! You said this was going to be beautiful!"

Winry gave out a final heaving shriek, cutting off at the end and tapering into a tiny sob. Immediately after we heard the high-pitched wailing of a baby. "Miracle of life, my ass!" Edward shouted, sounding cheated. "It's a miracle she survived! Like a walrus through a key-hole. Oh, God. That's going to fester in my mind."

Roy paled, motionless at the foot of the stairs.

Winry had asked me to come stay with her for the five weeks before she was due so she wouldn't be stuck with only Edward to take care of her. Apparently Alphonse and May weren't coming in until after the baby arrived. Winry and I had become somewhat familiar from keeping in touch after her wedding, so I gladly accepted.

I'd been happy to take some leave to see her and Roy and Nina had been happy to come with me, but, needless to say, this wasn't what any of us were expecting for a welcome.

Roy gulped, backing toward Nina and taking her hand. "Nina's bored. We're going outside."

Of course. My husband could face all things of war and hell, but God forbid he be confronted with childbirth. I kissed his cheek, giving my approval for his retreat.

"I hear a lot of little crying," said Nina as he led her back out the door. "I think that little person should have a band-aid if they are hurt."

I came up the stairs hurriedly, following the baby's grating cries down the hall to the bedroom with its door slightly cracked. The baby was bundled in the midwife's plump arms. Its cries sounded frantic and sandpapery. It almost made me want to cry along with it. Winry was still sprawled on the bed catching her breath, Edward leaning on the wall, traumatized.

The midwife brought the screaming bundle to Winry. The midwife then turned to Edward. "Is everything alright, Mr. Elric?"

Edward hadn't even made it out of his shorts and t-shirt into his day-clothes yet, which led me to assume he hadn't seen Winry's premature labor coming either. He shot the midwife a glare.

"How do you sleep at night?" he asked.

Winry chuckled breathlessly. "Ed, come see your son."

Edward did a double-take, coming off the wall. "My son?"

I knocked lightly on the door, feeling nosey watching through the crack. The midwife noticed me, she observed the Elrics, and then beckoned me in with her.

Edward came to sit beside Winry on the bed, both of them too wrapped up in the baby to notice my entrance. Edward looked into the mass of white blanket at the baby's pinched, shrieking face and turned his head to look closer. Winry jiggled the bundle as it continued to scream. Edward reached through the folds of the baby-blanket to touch his son. The crying tapered off almost instantly. Ed jerked away, startled by the sudden silence.

"Oh, jeez!" he said. "I broke it."

The baby wailed. I caught Winry rolling her eyes.

"You didn't break him," she said, holding out the baby for Edward to take. "Just hold him, Ed."

Edward stared at her. He put his arms out and let her place the crying lump into them. He adjusted his cradling hold awkwardly. The baby hushed, appeased.

Winry smiled wearily. "Dummy."

"Damn. He's so small." Edward melted. "Look at him. He's so cute!"

"Cuter than me in my miniskirt?" Winry asked, raising her eyebrows teasingly.

Edward brushed her off, still fiddling with the baby. "Don't play that card, honey."

I never would have guessed I'd ever hear Fullmetal call anyone 'honey.'

I came forward. "Did you decide on a name?" I asked stepping over to the bed with them.

They looked up in synchronized shock. I smiled, giving a little wave.

Edward glanced at the clock on the bedside table and gulped. "You're an hour early, Lieutenant."

"Funny," I said, standing against the wall. "I was going to say sorry for being too late."

Winry chuckled, gesturing to me for a hug. "Hope you don't mind. I haven't got my hair combed just yet."

I leaned over and wrapped my arms around her. "I'll let it slide this once." She was still damp with sweat from the effort.

I straightened and looked into the bundle in Edward's safe arms. Edward was right. The baby was tiny, even for one born five weeks early. He was still ruddy, fresh from the womb, his skin seeming flawless in its newness.

I touched his little hand. It was soft like warm dough. "I didn't get to do this part."

Edward nodded contemplatively. "Good for you. I wouldn't recommend it."

Winry elbowed him. "She meant the baby part, not the childbirth part."

I caught a flush in Edward's face. "Oh. Right."

Their son was bald like a marble. I chuckled, thinking about Nina's silky black mop and how much hair she'd probably had when she was a baby. "I'll bet Nina was a pretty baby," I said to myself.

Edward heard me. "Yeah, well mine's prettiest. Hands down."

Winry rolled her eyes while he wasn't looking. "We were thinking about naming the baby 'Maes' if it turned out to be a boy. After Mr. Hughes. If he'd been a girl we probably would have gone with Trisha after Ed's mom, but Maes was our top pick for a boy."

Edward let out a sharp 'ha!' and smirked at his wife. "Maes is your top pick, Winry. Those were your favorites. I'm sticking with Edward Junior for a boy and Edwina for a girl."

Winry sulked. "You'd pick Edwina over your own mother's name? Edwina. Really?"

Edward held up their son, who gurgled into a whiny cry. "Does he look like a Trisha to you?"

"He's a he!"

Edward cradled the baby, soothing him. "It would be totally weird naming my kid after my mom. I mean, it would be like I was raising my mother's clone. Besides, I called Mom 'Mom,' not 'Trisha.' It would just be weird."

Winry folded her arms. "So, we're raising Maes Hughes's clone."

I met eyes in amusement with the midwife as she packed up her gear. She winked at me.

Edward fumed. "No, we're raising Edward Junior."

Winry threw her hands up in stubborn irritation. "That's the same as raising _your_ clone!"

"No it isn't."

"How?"

Edward sighed like he was explaining something obvious. "Because of the 'Junior' part. There's a difference."

I sighed. It seemed fitting that the baby's first outside experience with his mom and dad be a conversation like this. With Edward and Winry for parents, the poor kid was better off just getting used to it from the beginning.

Winry began to whine. "Please, Ed. 'Maes Elric' has a great ring to it."

"And 'Edward Elric' is a classic."

I figured that Edward had to be teasing at this point. Naming his son after him would have been cruel. Edward's name was so widely known since his time as a State Alchemist that passing the name down would've given his son unnecessary attention. The so-called 'classic' would've proved to be their son's personal curse.

Winry kept at it. "What if he turns out like you, Ed?"

Edward frowned. "Because of my lousy name? What would be wrong with that?"

Winry folded her arms, surprisingly enthusiastic for a young woman who'd just given birth a matter of minutes ago. "I'd rather him turn out like Mr. Hughes."

Edward straightened his posture in a jerk. The baby let out a whimper. "You married me!"

"It was a long road to get to that point," Winry said, shaking her head.

"I don't believe this. You don't want our son to be like his dad."

Winry laughed. "You're plenty to handle on your own. I don't need two of you in the house."

It was funny. I'd always liked the idea of Nina turning out like Roy in some ways. It was probably different for me because Nina was adopted, though. Plus, I had a feeling Winry was saying most of this just to get her way with the name, not because she honestly felt that way.

Edward sighed, leaning back and smiling, his tone shifting. "Yeah, I guess you're right. If he turned out like me we'd probably end up killing each other before I even reached my midlife crisis." He chuckled, entertained by the thought. "But you really think naming him Maes can keep that from happening?"

Winry looked at Edward with her wet blue eyes. Her voice became sweet and forlorn. "It's a nice name."

"Yeah." Edward sank, realizing his eminent defeat. "It is."

Winry folded her arms tighter so her cleavage rose subtly over her nightgown's low neckline. "I like it, Ed." She was fighting dirty now.

Poor Edward looked pitiful; wide eyed and pleading. "We talked about this, Winry. Maes Hughes was my friend. I'd feel weird naming my son after him. I mean, don't you feel like we're trying to replace him a little?"

"It's a good name to live up to, Ed," Winry said softly. She slipped her lengthy blonde hair out of its ponytail and let the tresses cascade over her shoulders like spun honey. She already knew how this would pan out. It was just a matter of moving it along.

Edward fought to resist her tactics, veering his gaze to the side. "I just feel like we don't exactly have the right to it. I mean, what would Miss Gracia say?"

I decided to take Winry's side. 'Maes Elric' did have a nice ring to it. "Maes Hughes? Are you kidding? He'd be dancing on tables right now if he knew you were thinking of naming your first child after him. I say do it."

"Come on, Edward," said Winry. Ed stared at her like he hated the fact that she could look so sexy after childbirth. "He looks like a Maes."

Edward sighed. "He does."

Winry blinked her lashes lightly. "You like the name."

"I guess I do."

"You like it, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Winry smiled adorably. She had him now and she knew it. "Better than Junior?"

Edward slumped. "Fine. Whatever. Do what you want. Jeez. Alphonse said you would do this to me."

Winry didn't waste any time. She leaned to Edward, kissing his mouth and lifting the baby out of his arms in the same movement. She held their son at eye-level and cooed at him. "Hi, Maesy!"

"Okay, I agreed to Maes. We are not pet-naming our son Maesy!"

I laughed, watching Winry nuzzle and coddle their baby. "Well, maybe you're not, Ed."

Roy and Nina came in about an hour later when the area was quoted 'safe.' That implied that the midwife was gone and Winry had recovered enough to face more company. Though, I was sure Roy was mostly trying to avoid coming in before Winry was done nursing. I had a strong feeling he would have been handling the newfound maternal-procedures with similar grace to Edward if he had been in Edward's shoes.

"So, how's the retired life?" Roy asked Edward. The question was a jab more than anything.

Edward had Winry with him on the couch curled up with her head on his lap. She was almost asleep now, with the baby taken care of in my arms, and Edward was free to be his cocky self without the fear of being reprimanded by her.

"I wouldn't know," replied Edward. "I quit the military. Doesn't mean I'm some old geezer with nothing to do. Actually, I've heard being in the military too long makes you age faster. Of course, you'd have more experience with that than me, Colonel."

Roy's expression flattened. "A joy to see you, Fullmetal. As always."

"Hey, it's not like you were forced to visit me or anything," said Edward, brushing Winry's bangs from her eyes like second nature as her eyelids closed. "We invited the Lieutenant. I don't remember requesting your sorry ass."

Nina squirmed onto Roy's lap. "Daddy, you have to say sorry for your ass."

"Shut up, Ed," Winry slurred, sighing as she drifted into sleep.

Edward shrugged. "Oops."

"It's alright," I said. "Nina's picked up all kinds of vocabulary between the two of us."

"Not to mention all the uniforms at Central Command," said Roy, looking at Nina at a loss.

Maes was small and bony in my arms, born so early that he hadn't had the chance to develop the last of his protective baby pudge. He couldn't have weighed more than five pounds. But he was so warm. His curled up body radiated his warmth like a tiny furnace, the heat bleeding through the blanket and making my arms and chest cozy where he lay.

He'd just been fed, so he was mostly still, fading as quickly as his mother. What little movement he did make was gentle and delicate. His breaths and grunts were the newest, the smallest sounds I'd ever heard. His round face turned and hid in the folds of the blanket from the light. I rocked him, not because he needed it but because it felt so good to do it.

"I didn't get to do this," I said softly to myself.

I felt Nina's padded hand on my knee. I looked down. She was pointing at the bundle in my arms.

"Can I get my turn next?" she asked.

"Holding the baby?" Edward asked. "Sure, kiddo. Go for it."

"She's a little small," said Roy.

"So, keep her in your lap," said Edward. "Unless you'd rather have the Lieutenant supervise."

"Man up," Winry muttered.

"Nina," said Roy, "get over here."

I was a little annoyed at Edward and Winry for bating Roy into holding Maes with Nina. I'd liked the prospect of having Nina and the new baby on my lap both at once and now I wouldn't be holding either of them. I'd get back to Central Command and I'd be holding nothing but revolvers and Roy's late paperwork.

I brought Maes over to the armchair where Roy and Nina were sitting. Roy helped Nina cup her arms under the baby as I rested him on her lap. He grunted at the movement. Nina stared down at him, her round blue eyes mystified.

"He is smaller than me," she observed. She looked up at me, delighted. "He is so small!"

Maes wrinkled his face. I watched Roy stiffen like he was uncomfortable.

"Shush, shush," I said to Nina. "He has little ears, sweetheart. Keep your voice down."

Nina turned her eyes to Edward. "What is it called, please?"

"His name's Maes." Ed smiled warmly. "And that's his mother's fault."

Winry grumbled sleepily, shoving Ed's knee.

Nina stared down into the blanket, mesmerized by the baby's tiny features. Roy was motionless under her. I wondered if he was that afraid of disrupting the baby. Nina gazed down and slowly began to smile until she was grinning with both rows of her baby-teeth showing.

"I love that one the most of all forever," she said, cradling Maes gently with her thin arms, her hands coiling around him protectively.

Roy met my eyes stiffly. Nina moved her shoulders to rock Maes in her lap like she was rocking a china doll. Maes stirred, pulling up his hands and rubbing his nose and mouth. Nina giggled.

Roy looked green. "Don't wake him up."

"Don't worry about it," said Edward. "He's okay."

"I love you the most, Maes," said Nina, softly rubbing his little body in the blanket.

I knelt at Roy's feet, watching Maes with Nina. "He's pretty cute."

"He's the best one ever!"

"Now we're talking," said Edward proudly, his expression indicating new personal respect for Nina. "Best baby ever. I'm telling you, Nina. They come out much better like this than when you try to make them with alchemy." Edward shot Roy a look. "Though, I understand why alchemists would want to turn to Human Transmutation to create life. What happened upstairs this morning was no joke. Winry's a hero."

"Thanks, Ed," Winry sighed with her eyes closed lazily.

Roy paled. Edward patted Winry's ear. "Go to sleep."

"Maes is pretty," said Nina.

I looked down. "I think he likes you, Nina."

Winry smiled, cuddling Ed's lap. "Little flirt."

I watched Roy immediately straighten. Nina noticed his discomfort and looked up at him.

"No one's flirting," said Roy.

"Chill, Colonel," said Edward. "He's a couple hours old. He's not putting the moves on your daughter. If he was, I'd be impressed."

Winry snorted out of her nose, laughing softly.

I sighed. "Don't pay attention to my husband. He's given Nina unbridled permission to burn suitors alive."

"Whoa there, Sparky! Who knew you'd be the overprotective type," said Edward. "Colonel Tough Love."

Nina continued to look up at Roy. "Daddy, what is 'flirt?'"

Roy gave her an affectionate gaze, ignoring Edward, me, and Winry completely. "'Flirt' is something you never do. And if anyone ever tries to 'flirt' with you, just tell Daddy and Daddy will burn him alive for you. Got it, Nina?"

Nina hugged the baby, missing the point that Roy had been referring to boys like Maes. "Okay!"

"You're our next Fuhrer?" said Winry, her eyes peeling open at Roy. "Dear God."

Fin


End file.
